


these wings (are made to fly)

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Airplanes, Alternate Professions, Alternate Universe, Flight Attendants, M/M, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-16 12:31:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite the fact that he’s good at his job, Louis’ problem is that he’s constantly on the move and puts everyone else’s needs before his own.  Add probationary crew member Harry Styles into the mix, and Louis is definitely in trouble. Flight attendant AU, minus the mile high club.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. This is a fictional story based on the public images of these people. I do not intend to make any aspersions that their real-life counterparts behave or think like this. Title taken from Little Mix's "Wings", obviously.

When Louis decided to become a flight attendant, he had grand visions of traveling all of the world, seeing the wonders of the world, getting into all kinds of crazy adventures, and getting to meet people from tonnes of different cultures.

What he got instead was living at home with his mum and sisters in Doncaster, a base in London, and regular routes to the eastern coast of the United States. 

He reminds himself that he’s lucky to be international, though. He gets paid a little bit more and the people are slightly more interesting than from when he started out doing the London to Newcastle commuter plane. Not that those people weren’t interesting... but it wasn’t the glamour he wanted when he started.

Even now, as he disposes of bags full of sick and lets people spit their chewed gum into his hand, he wonders if he joined cabin crew for the right reasons. He has had a hard time dealing with shit from passengers in the past, and he’s not exactly rolling in money. He looks damn good in the uniform though, and he’s at least working for a well-known airline, if not a particularly well-respected one. 

At least it’s not Ryanair, he reminds himself. God knows how those guys do it.

\---

“Zayn!” Louis shouts as he rolls his suitcase up to the gate. Zayn is leaning against the podium, talking to the woman currently tasked with making the announcements. Louis doesn’t recognize her, but he’s excited to see Zayn here.

“Please tell me you’re going out and not coming in,” Louis says as he gets closer. Zayn’s abandoned his conversation at this point, turning to greet Louis in a warm hug, slapping him twice on the back.

“Going out,” Zayn laughs. “Looks like we’re working together today, mate.”

“Ace,” Louis agrees. 

Louis and Zayn met at their flight attendant training years prior, and after spending that month essentially attached at the hip, hadn’t seen too much of each other. They were friends on Facebook and messaged each other every so often to catch up and exchange stories, but since Zayn was often put on the London to New Delhi route, they didn’t get the chance to fly together too much. 

It was one of the things about his job that he didn’t like. He’s been social since birth, could make friendly conversation anywhere he went, but when he actually made friends, he preferred to make them for good. Flying, for some strange reason, leant itself to really intense connections, but then never seeing that person again. 

Louis reminds himself to send out some messages on Facebook during his next down time.

As they greet the boarding passengers, he and Zayn have a competition to see who can get the most people to say ‘hello’ back to them. Most times, Louis knows, the crew will stand in the doorway, saying things like “hello” and “good afternoon” and passengers will just keep their eyes on the ground, or let their eyes pass over them, adding a nod as they turn and slowly push their way down the aisle until they reach their seats. Louis sometimes amps up the charm, exaggerating his hellos in order to gain attention. It seems like almost every other flight, Louis and other cabin crew have this competition. Usually Louis sweeps, letting his personality and jawline shine. But with Zayn there, well, shit. Zayn’s jawline makes even Louis feel self-conscious, and he lets his competitive nature amp him up to the point where he’s practically jumping at customers, offering to basically carry them down the aisle to prove his point. He maybe, possibly, takes it too far. 

The third member of the crew flying with them, Jade, ends up being the dark horse for victory, since her soft spoken kindness is certainly less frightening than Louis’ mania or Zayn’s freakish good looks.

He bullies Zayn into making the announcements, since he loathes the sound of his own voice. He finds Zayn’s quite soothing, though, and while he likes hearing Zayn’s thick accent come out, he thinks his ability to neutralize his voice is a skill that deserves to be heard. Also, Louis hates making the announcements. He’d much rather work on his Vanna White impersonation in the aisles.

He moves down the aisle to check that everyone has their seatbelts securely fashioned, and he only has to ask a total of seven flyers to please, please turn off their mobiles, the flight is about to take off. He counts that as a relative success.

The flight, thankfully, goes blissfully undeterred, with no one trying to tamper with the smoke alarm, no one throwing a fit that they wanted the chicken and got the fish, not even any turbulence. It’s the flight that Louis hopes for every time he flies. He likes to pat himself on the back when things go this smooth. It reminds him that he’s pretty okay at what he does. He’s in the right field. But really, he knows that it’s just as much as the crowd as it is him and the others in the crew, so he makes sure to smile big after seven hours, hold out a bag for people to throw out their mints, and wish everyone to have a wonderful day, thank you. It feels more genuine this time. 

\---

Things aren’t the same when he meets Harry. 

Louis is waiting at the gate, freakishly early. The plane before them is still boarding, so he hangs back, waves at the crew, though he doesn’t recognize anyone. He sits on a bench in the corner, and starts playing Candy Crush, cursing the day he ever chose to download it. Just as he’s about to hurl his phone to the ground after his colour bomb gets devoured by the carnivorous chocolate, he hears someone clear their throat. He notices a pair of polished wingtips, and his eyes scan up, taking in the tailored trousers, and well-pressed blazer that matches his own. The head attached to the body isn’t too bad either, with the kind of artfully placed bedhead that probably took this person a solid half hour to perfect. The boy is smiling warmly, though his eyes look a bit unsure, and Louis moves to quickly hide his phone. 

“Are you working VS12?” mystery man asks. 

Louis’ smile spreads, now that he knows he’ll be stuck in close quarters with this boy for a good seven hours. Let it never be said that there weren’t perks of his job.

He nods, and holds out his hand. “Louis Tomlinson,” he says.

“Harry Styles,” the boy responds, shaking Louis’ hand. It’s good, firm, but not too intimidating.

Harry lets go of his luggage handle, and lets himself fall into the seat next to Louis.

“Haven’t seen you around, Harry Styles. Are you new to the friendly skies?” 

Harry ducks his head down, smiling at the carpet as if its let him in on some big joke.

“Is it all over my face?” he chuckles. “I’m still on probation.”

Louis mock gasps. “Look at you, though. International while still on probation. You must have been teacher’s pet during training.”

“Can’t help it if I have a gift,” Harry laughs.

“You are something else,” Louis laughs, before he notices the plane they’re set to get on pulling up to gate outside. 

Louis nudges Harry and gestures out the window, where the gray Boston sky greets them. 

“When did you get here?” Louis asks.

“Where? Boston? Virgin? The world?”

Louis rolls his eyes, but he’s already fond of Harry and he barely knows him.

“Boston,” he clarifies.

“Early yesterday. Just enough time to get some clam chowder,” he says, waving his hand for emphasis. “My mum told me I had to. Clam chowder and baked beans. I think what I really got was a stomachache.”

Louis laughs. “Where’d you go, then?”

“No idea, mate,” Harry says, shaking his head. “I’m actually pretty terrible at remembering new places. Don’t tell anyone,” he adds in a fake whisper, leaning his head in closer. Then, he pulls back and adds, “I did go on a walk down by the river, and like, there was this little park, with some kids playing, and this stage thing. Kids were running across it. I got a coca cola. It was wicked,” Harry says.

“What a thrilling story,” Louis deadpans. He thinks they’re at that point where Louis can give him shit for anything and everything.

Harry chuckles and nods, like he’s used to people teasing him. Louis thinks this is the start to a brilliant friendship, even if he’s already noticing how impossibly fit Harry is.

The thing is, it’s not that Louis assumes every other male flight attendant is gay, but Louis assumes every other male flight attendant is gay. He knows it’s wrong and all, stereotypes, yada yada, but he still does. Louis assumed Zayn was gay, uttered the words “too good looking to be straight” to a girl they trained with, but then found out Zayn actually _was_ straight, so that was that. 

Louis wouldn’t say he has gaydar so much as please-be-gaydar. And he really wants Harry to be into blokes.

Louis tries to not make it a habit of sleeping with other flight attendants anymore, especially ones that work for the same line, but simply fancying someone, well, that’s okay.

They chat while they board the plane, stow away their luggage, get everything ready and figured out. Louis doesn’t offer to play the greeting game, mostly because he has a sneaking suspicion that Harry would completely mop the floor with him, and really, he needs to save a little face in front of him.

He learns that Harry’s from Cheshire and still technically lives there with his mum and stepfather. Harry says it’s because he makes so little in his first year that he can’t afford to actually live in London, and so has been hopping around on friends’ couches or staying at home or at his family’s vacation home. Harry speaks with so much fondness about his mother, though, it reminds him about his own mum. 

“I totally understand,” Louis says, as he folds blankets and stuffs them into the overhead bin. “When I’m not in London, I’m at home in Donny with my mum and sisters. I’ve got a livable salary now, but I still feel like I need to help take care of the girls while they’re in school, and mum’s so busy, y’know?”

Harry pauses, looks over at Louis and gives him a secretive sort of smile. It’s nice. 

“Yeah, I do know,” he says, before moving down the aisle to make sure everything’s ready for the next round of mess.

Louis knows he’s being rude, but he’s so fascinated by Harry, he essentially ignores all of the other cabin crew. When he’s doing the overhead announcements before take-off (ugh), he peers around the edge to see Harry’s reaction when he says “arm the doors and crotch check” instead of ‘cross check’. Harry curls his lips in what is a very clear attempt to not break into giggles. Louis feels a rush of pride and wants to get as much of Harry’s attention as possible.

Louis can practically feel himself getting into trouble. 

The first hour goes pretty smooth, at least, as much as some of these flights can go. It’s late night and only one person gets plane sick. Bonus: someone else, Louis thinks it might have been Cara, takes care of it. Louis counts this as a win. 

Things take a turn for the worse in the third hour. They’ve already forced a meal down the passengers’ throats, and dimmed the lights in an effort to get them to fall asleep. A couple of grown men in Harry’s section, however, decide to cause a scene.

Harry wanders down there when he sees the call light go on, expecting it to be a request for water, no doubt. Louis watches as Harry’s face goes from a warm and pleasant smile to a slight frown and a furrowed brow. The two men are red-faced, gesticulating wildly, and when Harry turns to make helpless eye contact with Louis, Louis decides it’s time to intervene.

Not that he doesn’t think Harry can handle it on his own, of course. He totally has faith in his new counterpart.

Louis quickly, but calmly, walks up the aisle to where Harry is intently listening to these two men. When he gets closer, though, he starts to pick up on a little bit of the story.

“Hi, Louis,” Harry greets, overly formal. “These gentlemen were just explaining to me their, um, delicate situation.” He flourishes his wrist a little.

Then, one of the men, the one by the window seat, turns and stares directly into Louis’ eyes. The man’s older, probably going well into his 60s, with a button-up shirt that makes it seem far warmer than it was in Boston, or will be in London. He’s wearing some kind of Panama Jack style hat and it makes Louis wish not only for the dog days of summer, but also for some kind of wardrobe change for this man. 

“Yes, hello, Louis,” says the older man. “As I was explaining to Harry here, my neighbor doesn’t seem to understand that these are my armrests, and that he doesn’t own them--”

The man in the middle seat scoffs and interrupts before the first bloke can continue, or either Harry or Louis could intervene. His American accent is thick and intimidating. 

“No, Louis, as I was explaining to Harry, this guy over here thinks that he gets both armrests, whereas I’m supposed to just sit in the middle seat, hardly able to breathe, and not have a place to put my damn arms?”

Louis’ eyes widen a bit. He sees why Harry had sent him pleading eyes already.

“Um,” Louis says.

“Um,” Harry says.

“I understand Tim,” Harry starts, and Louis keeps his laugh in because of course Harry is already on first name basis with belligerent passengers. He turns to the other one. “George, I think what Tim is saying is that he feels just as entitled to the armrest as you do. Tim, I think George feels you could use the armrest to your right since your wife isn’t using that one presently.”

Tim lets out a grunt, and Louis sees a little bit of his moustache rustle with the movement. 

“I don’t understand why he gets to use both armrests and I have to share two with my wife. We paid just as much, I’m sure. Maybe more.”

Louis barely manages to contain his eye roll, and instead chooses to breathe through his nose, count to three, and exhale.

Harry stands suspiciously still next to him, so Louis jumps in.

“Okay, boys. Here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to go shared custody of this armrest. One of you will take the armrest for the hour. Either Harry or I will come back to watch you change, and then the other will take the armrest for the next hour. We will share the armrest,” he said, making sure to draw out the words. He’s being polite and courteous, sure, but he wants them to feel like he is talking to them as if they are six. Louis has definitely met six-year-olds who know how to share their armrests.

The two men look red and flustered, presumably still angry, but not sure how to proceed. Harry smiles, and then turns on his heel and ambles down the aisle, heading straight for the galley.

“You’re up first, Tim. I’ll see you gentlemen in an hour,” Louis says, before turning to see after Harry. He can feel the eyes of the other passengers, and quite frankly, he’s not sure if they’re appraising or judgemental. He hopes for the former. He hopes Harry doesn’t think he’s incapable of doing his job or needing to be saved or something equally ridiculous.

Harry’s probationary, and thus, needs to be extra sensitive with cranky passengers. Louis has a slightly sturdier position, though will still get in a shit tonne of trouble if anyone complains loud enough. Louis hopes that these two men have done enough complaining.

Louis meets the eyes of an older woman, hair pulled back into a top knot, sweater sprawled across her shoulders. Louis looks down at her empty cup.

“Another spritzer, ma’am? Or would you like me to clear this?”

The woman hands him the plastic cup wordlessly, and then turns back to her paperback. It has a picture of a beach and an adirondack chair on the front. Louis wonders why this group is so stuck on summer. He also makes a mental note to ask her how it is by the end of the flight-- he could use some new reads.

Louis finds Harry in the galley, forehead up against one of the cabinets. He doesn’t look like the same cheery bloke who had been telling him stories about playing pranks on his sister or running around his uni’s campus during finals, screaming and naked.

Now he just looks like someone who’s ready to get off the plane.

“Still a few more hours left,” Louis murmurs, as he steps closer. “Um, you okay?”

Harry grunts, low.

“That was really fucking weird,” Louis whispers, leaning in close so that no passengers overhear.

“Have you ever seen two grown men fight over twelve centimeters of plastic before?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to,” Louis smirks.

Harry does smile at that. Louis feels a small lurch of victory just below his right rib cage. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he whines.

“I know. No. That was bizarre,” he repeats. He wants to reach out and soothe Harry more, rub his arm, crinkle up the uniform a bit. Not okay.

“It’s just,” Harry sighs, peering around the galley wall to make sure no one’s around to hear their hushed conversation. “I’m still so new I like, run through all the scenarios in my head. What to do if someone has a heart attack, what to do if there’s a terrorist attack, what to do if we need to crash land on an island inhabited by mysterious polar bears--”

“That’s Lost,” Louis interjects.

“--but I had no idea how to handle two men being twats,” he finishes, making the last word even quieter. Louis feels fond. 

“I didn’t know either,” Louis reasons, and now he does reach out, placing a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder. At least, he hopes it’s comforting. Comforting and not predatory.

“Yeah, but you’re all, natural negotiator man,” Harry mumbles in response, tilting his head down to nuzzle a little bit at the hand on his shoulder. Kind of like a cat, Louis reckons. This is apparently a thing they’re doing now. It’s probably a thing that could gain a few raised eyebrows and smirks from the other cabin crew, but still. A thing.

“Who told you about my superhero nickname?” Louis deadpans.

Harry smiles again, and rocks back on his heels. Louis’ arm falls dead to his own side. Harry turns to pull some more Diet Coke out. 

“Time for another go around with the trolley, innit?” Harry asks.

Louis looks at his wristwatch. It’s not really, but he thinks Harry probably needs to feel like he can do this job. Louis knows he can.

“Definitely. Have to keep these flyers perfectly hydrated and caffeinated,” he reasons, before turning and waving down another member of the crew.

On the fifth hour, most people are sleeping, so Harry and Louis take the opportunity to sit in the jumpseats and whisper giddily to each other like they’re delving secrets.

Louis would be lying if he said that his state of fancying Harry wasn’t steadily increasing over the course of the flight. But Louis knows himself, and he knows this industry. Flights have a tendency to make meeting someone new really intense. Being a flight attendant is kind of like being a bartender or hair stylist, he’s told friends. People tend to corner him and divulge secrets when they’re that high up in the sky.

“So you’re commuting out of Cheshire?” Louis asks. “Please tell me you’re in a crash pad and not, like, living out of a car.”

Harry shakes his head. “A car, good one.” He coughs into his fist. “Actually, I’ve been staying with a mate of mine when I’m in London. He says he doesn’t mind, but, well, y’know.”

Louis doesn’t know.

“Why? Are _you_ living out of your car?” Harry sounds so worried suddenly, like he might have offended Louis.

Louis laughs. “No,” he says, drawing it out. “I’m in a crash pad kind of near Heathrow. It’s the worst, but there’s definitely a bed opening up if you’re sick of staying with your friend.”

Harry’s face lights up a little, at that, like he’s just pleased to have been invited.

“Thanks, mate. Hopefully I won’t need it though. This friend, well,” Harry pauses, looking around quickly. “How good are you at giving romantic advice?”

Louis blinks.

“Just call me the love doctor,” he says, leaning closer.

“I won’t, but thanks,” Harry laughs. “So, this guy I’m staying with obviously lives in London, and he and I sometimes...,” he trails off, gesturing with his hands for Louis to fill in the blanks. Louis does. “We haven’t talked about it much, but like, he’s really funny and we get on, and I just think it feels right.”

“Sounds perfect,” Louis says slowly. He’s not quite sure where the advice part comes in.

“I bought him this, like, tea thing as a souvenir. Is that stupid? I was just thinking, like, tea is English. He’s English. I’m English. I’m in Boston. I wanted him to know I was thinking about him. It’s stupid. It’s definitely stupid. I should definitely throw it overboard.” 

Louis doesn’t quite know what to do with Harry so worked up. 

“That’s what they want,” Louis says. “Don’t let the Yanks win.”

“Oh, they’ve already won,” Harry whines, throwing his forearm over his eyes.

“So you must really be smitten, huh?” Louis laughs, nudging him slightly.

Harry rolls his eyes, which makes Louis think that the rest of Harry’s friends must take the piss just as much. This is good. Harry needs to have thick skin if he’s going to be friends with Louis.

“Smitten kitten,” Harry laughs. “Or at least, that’s what another mate of mine says.”

“Cute,” Louis says, but he feels a little awkward for having flirted with Harry. Or thinking Harry would have been flirting with him, rather.

“I suppose,” Harry says slowly. “I’m not really sure where I stand with him, though. I don’t know if he’s dating other people. I kind of assume he is, but like, I’m not.” He trails off again, looking down at his hands.

“Oh, my young bird,” Louis starts.

“Hey,” Harry interjects.

“If you’re interested in becoming exclusive with him, use your words. Life is too short to be second guessing everything. Think of how often you’re jetting about. Don’t you want the time you do have on the ground to be, well, grounded? Just tell him how you feel. If he feels even a small portion of what you do, then it can’t be all bad, yeah?”

Harry nods.

“You’re right. I know you’re right. I’m acting like I’m still in year 8. I’m an adult,” he says with more conviction.

“Too right you are,” Louis agrees.

“I have an adult job, even.”

“Well, that’s arguable.”

“Shush, you,” Harry points. Harry reached forward and jabs Louis’ shoulder playfully with the finger he’s pointing. Louis overacts, of course, faking his pain, grasping at his own shoulder melodramatically.

Harry lets out a small giggle, and Louis feels a small tug of fondness from behind his breastbone. He’s known Harry for a few hours at this point, and he’s already thinking about how to get his number, make sure they become friends, real friends. Louis has friends who he sees once a year, other flight attendants he’s slept with and will call his friends, and then he has genuine long-term friends. He wants Harry to be a genuine pal, knows that they have that natural camaraderie that is needed to maintain relationships in their line of work.

Louis doesn’t often feel that overwhelming need to be someone’s friend. When he was in secondary school, he definitely felt insecure about his friendships. Then as he got older, he learned how to socialize and he realized that people were typically attracted to him, especially if he stopped trying so hard. But on those times where he does develop ‘friend crushes’, and that’s definitely what this is, he’s always wondering if the other person thinks he’s cool.

Kind of like Harry and his London bloke.

Except not at all like that, he reminds himself.

Louis gets to the crash pad late that night. He and Harry had chatted after the plane landed in London, while they cleaned up the shit left behind, and as they walked through the terminal toward the tube line. They chatted until Louis realized his stop was next, and Harry rushedly asked for his WhatsApp info. Louis smiled and had been thrilled that Harry apparently had thought he was cool enough to be friends with. Louis strolled off the tube, suitcase rolling behind him, as Harry stayed on the line set to head further in town. Harry mentioned South Kensington, the bastard.

Louis enters the crash pad, greets the people he sees about, and heads for his room. He enters quietly, avoiding flicking the switch as he’s sure there are people already sleeping. He tiptoes over to his bunk and then digs through his carry-on until he pulls out a pair of joggers and a t-shirt. He toes his shoes off, excited to finally be out of the pinchy dress shoes, and pads his way out of the room, down the hall, and into the loo. 

Once he’s in the toilet, does he flick the switch and look at himself in the mirror. His eyes are a little red, probably from the terrific combination of recycled air and lack of sleep. His five o’clock shadow is growing in, but Louis reasons that he’ll shave it off before he heads up to Doncaster tomorrow. 

Louis borrows someone else’s bar of soap off the counter and scrubs his face down. He had done a quick job of brushing his teeth right before they landed, and Louis’ quite knackered, so he shuffles back down the hall, waving at someone else as he eases himself into the room, closing the door behind him with the quietest click he can muster, and promptly collapses into his bunk.

Louis loves his job. He really does. 

Except he really hates having to live in a crash pad sometimes. He tries to make it so that he crafts his schedule so that he’s flying a lot back to back and then can have a couple of weeks off in a row. This way, he can justify being in his mid-twenties and still technically living with his mother in Doncaster. He can’t really afford to help support his mum and sisters at home on top of a London flat. Until Louis finds some better offer, he’ll probably keep this bunk in an overcrowded flat with dozens and dozens of other flight attendants, rotating until he doesn’t remember names, just remembers to wave, smile, and ask “how’s it going?”

Louis remembers that while he’s in his tiny bunk, Harry’s probably spread across some queen sized bed getting head by some older English bloke. Louis briefly wonders where he went wrong in life. Part of him almost wants to resent Harry. Harry is the one who’s new at flying-- he should be the one cramped in a room with five other jetlagged and snoring people. Harry probably shouldn’t even be doing international flights yet, Louis reasons. But Harry’s so genuine, and funny, Louis remembers, so it’d seem cold to hold it against him. It’s no surprise Harry’s got some bloke in the city just waiting for him to fly back in and entertain him.

Louis reaches over and pulls out his phone from his carry-on. He shields the front so the light doesn’t disturb anyone, and he pulls up WhatsApp to compose a message to Zayn.

_“Have you met slash flown with Harry Styles yet?? If so I’m going to be so mad at you for not warning me there was such a fit new flight attendant in the ranks!!!”_

Louis locks his phone and sets it next to his pillow. He can’t remember if he took a melatonin pill before getting off the plane, but he lets his eyes drift shut and body finally relax.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I don't own anything or mean to suggest anything by this piece of fiction. Also, sincere apologies to any actual flight attendants who may stumble upon this. 
> 
> Much love to Liz/hazmesentir for reading through this for me. :)

A couple of weeks later, Louis finds a message on WhatsApp from Harry.

_“Just met a friend of yours... x”_

Louis doesn’t think he’s ever received a message that was so ominous.

 _“Oh really? And who might that be?”_ he taps out.

A minute later, Harry responds, attaching a picture. It’s completely dorky-- a shot of Harry and Zayn both peeking out from behind the first class curtains, one on top of the other. 

_“Amazing! I’m not surprised you two are getting on so well!”_

_“He’s not as good at romantic advice as you are, unfortunately,”_ comes the response. Uh oh, Louis thinks. If things with Harry and his mystery man haven’t been settled, their Talk might not have gone well. Maybe Harry realizes now what a sham Louis is at being sage-like.

 _“Uh oh. Looks like trouble,”_ types Louis. _“Where did you guys fly to?”_

Harry responds quickly.

_“Just landed at Heathrow! Zayn is letting me crash at his flat-- please tell me you’re in London!!!”_

Louis squirms in his seat, closes the app, and rings Harry properly.

“Hey,” Harry greets him, voice deep and warm. “I take it from this phone call you are at least in England.”

“You take it correctly,” Louis says. “I’m here in London, as a matter of fact. Have a flight leaving tomorrow evening to the beautiful land of Newark, New Jersey.”

“Oh Newark, I know thee well,” Harry laughs. “Tell Maureen at the Starbucks in Terminal B I said ‘hello’. She’ll know what it means.”

“I’m sure she will,” Louis responds dryly. “So Harry, what do you and Zayn have planned for this fine evening?”

“Well, we’re just dropping our stuff off at Zayn’s and getting out of these uniforms. Then, we’re going around some Happy Hours, I believe. I hope you’re up for it.”

“Sounds buzzing,” Louis says, eyes darting around him. He’s not in uniform right now, and while his jumper and jeans combination isn’t going to be getting him into any clubs tonight, he thinks it’s passable for the kind of pubs around the corner from where he thinks Zayn is. “Zayn’s still in Ealing, yeah?”

Harry hums in agreement. “Yeah, I’ll text you the address in a tick.”

“Alright. I think I saw Niall in the lounge area a minute ago. I’ll invite him. You two will get along famously, I’m sure.”

“Nice. Liam’s here, too, so it’ll be five lads, I think. Do you think we could throw a coup and go into town to Camden?”

Louis barks a laugh. “Sincerely doubtful. Zayn and Niall are as straight as anything, and if Liam’s the person that I’m thinking he is, he has a serious bird.”

“What?” Harry asks, sounding scandalized.

“I know, surprise.”

“Ealing’s alright. This’ll be good, though.”

“Definitely. Okay, I’m going to go find Niall. Text me the address and I’ll be around soon. I’m not that far, I think.”

“Okay, see you soon,” Harry sing-songs, right before he hangs up.

Louis puts his phone down on his bunk and immediately scoots around the flat for where he thinks he saw Niall last. With about fifteen people in the place at any given time, it usually feels more like uni than uni had.

He finds Niall, naturally, in the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water from the tap.

“Niall, I need your help,” is what Louis chooses to open with.

“Louis,” Niall greets him. He reaches to the bag of crisps open behind him. Niall shoves a few in his mouth, brushing the powder on his baggy t-shirt.

Louis and Niall only met through living in the crash pad together, and even then, they didn’t know each other all that well. They were two of the people that had been there the longest, everyone else quitting or moving full-time into London, leaving whatever other town they were technically commuting from. Louis still couldn’t fully abandon Doncaster, and Niall had mentioned he would feel like he was betraying Ireland if he officially moved all of his shit to London. On this fundamental level, they understood each other.

Niall didn’t even work for Virgin-- the first time Louis had seen him, he was decked head to toe in a polyester green suit. Louis didn’t even have to ask to know he flew for Aer Lingus. Of course, when they started talking it became even more obvious, his thick brogue and fake disdain for everything English.

“I’m just going to put it out there: I need you to come out with me tonight and prevent me from making poor life decisions,” Louis says, shrugging.

“Alright,” Niall says. Then after a couple of beats, adds, “Just buy me a pint, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees. “You’re a good mate, Niall,” he adds, backing away and pointing. “Ready in five?”

“Okay,” Niall agrees, only half-paying attention. He lifts the almost empty bag of crisps to his mouth and tilts it back to make sure every last crumb is out of the bag.

On their walk to the tube station, Niall gets more information out of Louis. Not that Niall had to try very hard-- Louis was very much willing to talk.

“So the mission of the night, Niall, is to make sure I end the night without trying to seduce Harry,” Louis explains.

Niall nods thoughtfully.

“And who the fuck is Harry?”

“Harry is another crew member whom I have only met once, but it was an instant connection type thing and we’ve been texting since.”

Niall nods again.

“And _why_ can’t you seduce him?”

Louis thinks about this for a minute. There’s no real reason, actually, apart from trying to separate business and pleasure. Louis stepped back because of the guy Harry was supposed to be crashing with when he was in London. Harry is-- or was-- smitten over another guy. Harry had admitted as much himself. 

But something had clearly gone wrong there, if Harry staying with Zayn was anything to go by. 

“It wouldn’t be professional,” Louis decides, though it sounds forced even to his own ears.

Niall, of course, stops in his steps and lets out the loudest guffaw Louis has ever heard.

“You’ve got to be kiddin’ me, mate,” Niall says once he gains some composure. “All flight crews do is sleep with each other. Why do you think I even joined this field?”

“Ugh, I know, and trust me, I’ve done the rounds. I just can’t with Harry. Don’t ask questions.”

Niall shakes his head, but smiles. “Okay, okay. I don’t get it, but if sleeping with someone would be a poor life choice tonight, I am here to prevent that.”

“Excellent,” Louis agrees, as he leads them down into the station.

When they reach Zayn’s flat, Louis leans on to the doorbell just a little bit longer than the average person, just to make sure they understand his presence. A slightly flushed and generally charmed Harry answers the door.

“Hello! Welcome to Zayn’s,” Harry says with a wink. Harry’s dressed simply as well, dark skinny jeans and a warm jumper, his socked feet digging into Zayn’s carpet.

“Cheers, mate,” Louis says, as he leans in for a hug. Half-way in, he wonders if hugging is too forward. They definitely did the arm touches last time they saw each other, but Louis isn’t sure if that means the next natural progression is a hug. Louis can’t very well pull back now, though, can he? It’d be even more awkward than the barely noticeable pause during his lean in. He tries to pal his hug up a bit by giving the old-fashioned double tap, before he pulls back and gestures to Niall.

“Harry, meet my friend Niall. Niall, meet my friend Harry.”

Louis isn’t sure if he feels better or worse when Niall leans in and gives Harry a hug hello, too.

When Harry pulls away, he quickly spins to Louis.

“I might lose my job tomorrow,” he says cheerfully.

“And why is that?” Louis asks, as he toes his shoes off inside the entryway.

Niall uses Louis’ shoulder for balance as he undoes his trainers.

“Well,” Harry starts, drawing out the word. “Basically, Zayn stole the leftover wine and poured it into water bottles and took it off the plane for us to drink tonight.”

Niall laughs.

“Mate, everyone does that. Gotta make up some of that money by drinking leftover wine.”

Louis chuckles, but does meet Harry’s eyes. 

“It’s true,” Louis agrees. “It’s kind of expected. Either we steal it and drink it or dump it down the drain. You don’t want to waste perfectly good wine, do you?”

“I suppose not,” Harry says slowly, like he’s not quite sure he understands. “I do hate the overbearing smell when I pour it out.”

“Yes, yes, much better to drink it. I’d have walked faster if I knew there’d be free mix wine here,” Louis says, hanging up his coat and walking down the hallway to what he presumes is the kitchen.

“Zayn!” Louis greets, giving Zayn a hug before he gets a chance to pull away. Next to Zayn is Liam, another attendant Louis has seen in passing and heard about, but has never flown with. Zayn had explained to him at one point that Liam was mostly on routes to Australia and New Zealand, a fact that Louis was perpetually jealous of. He’d never gotten the chance to fly there-- yet. He was hoping to organize his vacation days to have a free month to hop around, but it wasn’t working out so well. Most of his free time was spent up in Doncaster. 

“Liam, right?” Louis says, going in for a hug, just to gauge Liam’s reaction. Liam stiffens slightly, but doesn’t push him off, just quickly pats his shoulder.

“This is my mate Niall,” Louis says, stepping back and gesturing to Niall.

“Hey,” he waves. “I’m not going to hug you.”

“Thanks,” Zayn and Liam say in unison.

“Here’s some wine,” Zayn laughs, passing over a water bottle filled with a deep pink wine.

“More fans of white on your flight, I take it,” Louis says as he reaches out and takes the bottle offered to him.

“Cheers,” Harry says, tipping his own half-drunk bottle of wine against Louis’, listening to the plastic thud pathetically. Harry’s lips are stained already, and Louis is definitely, definitely, not paying attention to it. 

To the surprise of no one, least of all Louis, Niall and Harry get along famously.

By the time Louis tips back the remaining dregs of his frankly terrible merlot-chardonnay mix, Harry and Niall have already exchanged numbers, compared their schedules, and made plans to go golfing together.

“I can’t believe you golf,” Louis laughs, looking at Niall. He turns to Harry. “I can’t believe _you_ golf,” he adds. 

“What?” Harry asks, looking scandalized. “I can golf.”

“You’re secretly an old man,” Louis laughs.

“Not true,” Harry smiles, it slowly spreading across his face.

“Oi,” Niall adds, but it’s half-hearted, and followed by a swig of his wine. For a moment, Louis had forgotten he was supposed to be teasing Niall, too. 

“Alright lads,” Liam says, clapping his hands in front of him. “What do we say about moving onwards? Feeling warm?”

Zayn throws the rest of his bottle back and gulps it all down, letting out a big ‘ahhh’ after he swallows it. The burn must get to him, though, since he tries to cover up a couple coughs almost immediately.

“Roll out!” Niall cries, launching into a somewhat impressive Ludacris impersonation, as he moves to get his own coat. Louis is usually pretty easily amused by these types of things anyway.

The five of them exit Zayn’s flat and wait out on the pavement while he meticulously checks his locks. 

“You’re fine, Zayn. Let’s move!” Louis urges. Harry’s bouncing up and down on his heels beside him, and rubbing his own arms to keep warm. Louis is definitely keeping his eyes forward, not staring at the obscene size of Harry’s hands. Except for the part where he is.

“Need more alcohol to warm up, then?” Louis asks, smirking.

Harry just grins and nods. “Liquor me up more, please.”

Louis gulps a little bit, and hopes it’s not noticeable. 

Louis fake tsk-tsks and shakes his head. “Should’ve brought a jacket. Didn’t your mother ever teach you that?”

“Yes,” Harry says, huddling closer. “Right after not accepting drinks from strangers and not having sex until I was ready to get someone pregnant.”

Louis barks out a laugh at that.

“Excellent,” he says, as he loops an arm around Harry and reels him in close. Harry moves easily, letting his arm drape down around Louis’ waist. It’s too easy, really, considering they haven’t spent all that much time together. It’s a relationship based on an initial deep conversation and some funny text messages, but it’s segueing into a fully fleshed out friendship before he can even stop it.

Harry sighs happily, and Louis feels his heart do the meringue. 

“I’d offer you my coat, but I’m much too selfish,” Louis adds, wanting some words to come out of his mouth.

“I’m too polite of a lady to accept it anyways,” Harry says, and leans his head down to lightly headbutt Louis.

“Rude,” Louis says. “Also, ow.”

Harry chuckles, but doesn’t pull away. Louis keeps him pressed tightly against his side as they start meandering down the street. It’s much too early and they’re not nearly drunk enough, but they’re close enough that Louis can justify having to hold Harry up. It’s the thinnest, flimsiest excuse he can come up with, but he can’t really help it. Even if he won’t act on it, he can’t help but flirt a little.

It’s a short walk to the pub nearby that’s selling cheap food and cocktails, so they arrive fast enough, and snag a booth, pulling up a chair so that they’re all quartered in. Liam’s in “the bitch seat” as Zayn dubs it, but looks happy enough to run up to the bar to place a couple of orders of nachos and beers. 

After his first IPA (always Belgian-- it’s one of Louis’ personal beer rules), he’s starts to feel light and bubbly. He’s almost horrified until he remembers the wine at the flat, and feels his dignity slightly restore. He tries to drink the second one slower, but he’s got Liam making significant eyes across from him. Trying to avoid eye contact with both Liam and Harry means that he keeps taking sips from his glass. He probably just looks thirsty.

And he is, kind of.

He takes a funny picture of Harry holding a tortilla chip in front of his face. Harry’s got cheese oozing out of his mouth, and even a little salsa on his lip. 

“You’re a right mess, Haz,” Louis laughs. He uploads it the picture to instagram quickly, refusing to show Harry, even as Harry is trying to lean over him, suggesting filters and begging to see it. 

Zayn’s in the middle of a hilarious story about a woman who had a Kristin Wiig in Bridesmaids-esque breakdown on a flight last week.

“I actually asked her if this was part of some prank, like for Ant and Dec or something,” he says, shaking his head. “She didn’t like that.”

Liam laughs so hard he snorts, which starts them all going again. Between the laughter and the alcohol, Louis feels warmer and more welcome than he has in months. Sometimes he gets like this-- he feels so good it’s like he suddenly realizes he wasn’t so good before. He feels so high he didn’t realize he was low.

“I’m going to go to the loo!” Harry announces loudly, and then shifts in his seat to slide out of the booth and mosey on over to the sign for the toilets.

Louis laughs at the absurdity of Harry’s announcement, mocking him until he totters away, and then Louis turns to realize the other three are looking at him expectantly.

“Oh, don’t start,” Louis says.

“Louis,” Zayn comments. He doesn’t add more. Louis knows he doesn’t need to.

“I’m not sure why I’m here, Lou,” Niall says. “I don’t see why you can’t just...”

“Seriously?” Louis asks, looking directly at Niall. “Forget the part where we sort of work together. He’s nice. We’re friends. You’re all friends now. It’s a bad idea.”

Liam looks thoughtful. He opens his mouth and then closes it, thinking over his words again.

“As someone with little bias or viewpoint,” he starts, holding his hands up in an effort to placate Louis, “I think Harry’s not worried about any of that. I think he’s interested in you, and judging by all this, I’d say you’re interested, too.”

“The working together thing is an excuse,” Zayn adds. “We all know it. I mean, I’ve slept with tonnes of girls we work with.”

“Me too,” Niall echoes.

“Tonnes,” Liam agrees.

“It’s different,” Louis says, feeling defensive.

“It’s not,” Niall whispers, just as Harry finishes up and slides back into the booth.

After the third IPA, Louis is really starting to regret the fact that he let Liam pressure him into the 2 for 1 special, since Louis is obviously going to have to finish the fourth one if he wants to take advantage of the happy hour. It would only be right, he reasons to himself as he holds his fourth and final glass.

Harry leans over and fits his mouth on the rim of Louis’ glass, lapping up a sip of his beer.

“Oh god,” Harry says, sounding horrified, as his tongue comes out and sweeps over his upper lip. “That’s terrible.”

“It’s effective,” Louis argues, nudging into Harry’s side a little bit.

“Well, my drink doesn’t need to taste like arse in order to be effective,” Harry shoots back, though he needles Louis a little bit more.

 _Flirting_. Louis’ alarms are ringing. They’ve been flirting all night, really, but Louis suddenly feels drunker and at the point where he would normally do something about this. 

“Okay, beer stealer,” he tries.

“You can have a sip of my far more tolerable draft, if you would like,” Harry replies, sliding his glass and coaster just a smidge toward Louis.

Louis laughs and shakes his head, choosing to take another sip of his own drink. He lets the hops mellow on his tongue, tasting the yeast as he swallows. It’s warm and comforting.

“I need some air,” Harry announces, though this time he adds a swift poke into Louis’ side. 

“Ow,” Louis deadpans. “I guess I’ll come with.” 

Harry smiles and slides out of the booth again, grabbing his glass as he does so. Harry spares the bartender a quick glance and shields his glass from predators as he makes his way to the doorway.

“Don’t,” Louis mutters to the other three as he shimmies out of the booth himself. 

“Wasn’t gonna,” Niall says as Liam slides into the side of the booth he and Harry had vacated.

Louis hums and makes his way to the entryway. Harry’s out front, leaning against the bricks in a way that makes him look even taller, all stretched out and covered in black denim. It’s hard to believe that Harry looks this good coming off a trans-atlantic flight, but yet, here he is. 

“This is one of the few neighborhoods where I’d say you can breathe in that fresh London air and not be sarcastic,” Louis says, hovering in front of where Harry is leaning.

“I think it warmed up a bit,” Harry comments, looking up at the sky.

“I think you’re the one that warmed up, mate,” Louis chuckles. He rubs his hand together in an effort to warm up a bit more. 

Harry flutters his eyes a little and this is when Louis knows he should take a step back.

Louis is positive Harry Styles is trying to seduce him.

“So, do you want to talk about the guy from before? Break up?” Louis says. It’s been his experience that nothing kills a mood quite like bringing up past relationships-- particularly if they’ve freshly failed.

Harry rolls his eyes a little. “‘It’s hard to break up when you were never really together,’” he says, using the hand not clutching his pint glass to make air quotes. “At least that’s what he said.”

“Seemed to me like you were together, judging by the way you talked about him,” Louis says, tilting his head to the side in sympathy.

“Don’t do that head tilt thing, please,” Harry laughs. “It’s fine. He didn’t get the tea thing as a present, he thought it was childish.”

Louis makes a noise of disbelief and Harry presses on.

“It was right after he said that I was childish, but right before I called him a selfish prick. I don’t know. He said that expecting more from what we had showed how young I was, which I guess isn’t the same as ‘childish’, but it’s definitely what he meant.”

Harry switches hands with his glass and rearranges his hair.

“Well, you can do better,” Louis says confidently. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, however, he realizes that might have been the wrong thing to say.

Harry tilts his head back, letting the setting sun light up his hair. He takes a smirking sip of his beer, charm apparently turned back on. Louis thinks that the charm isn’t the only thing that’s turned on right now.

Harry reaches out and tugs on Louis’ jumper, drawing him in. 

“We should go somewhere,” Harry says quietly.

“Like Timbuktu?”

Harry smile doesn’t fade.

“Nope,” he says, letting the ‘p’ pop.

“I don’t have much to offer other than a small bunk bed in an overcrowded crashpad,” Louis says, and wonders why the words are even coming out of his mouth. He’s just given up the game and admitted he knew what Harry meant. He can’t even feign ignorance. Louis’ an idiot. He needs Niall to come in and save him.

Harry hums thoughtfully, not letting his grip on Louis’ jumper lessen. 

“I’m sure Zayn wouldn’t mind,” Harry mumbles.

Louis thinks Zayn very much would mind two people shagging on his couch, but he doesn’t want to be the one to break it to Harry.

“Um,” Louis says.

Harry must take that as agreement, because the hand that’s holding on to his jumper is suddenly on the back of his neck, pulling him into a kiss. Louis jumps forward, bracing his hand on the brick wall, and he finds that his body is flushed with Harry’s. Imagine that. 

Louis reciprocates before he even understands, and Harry’s tongue folds over his. He feels Harry excitedly arch his back underneath him, and life starts to come back into him, just little flickers of reality.

Because the reality is that he already made the decision that he couldn’t sleep with Harry. Harry was too sweet, too funny, too much of a friend, too much of a coworker. 

Louis feels a wet patch go through the denim on his thigh, and both of them instantly still. Louis’ eyes shoot open to see Harry’s wide eyes meeting his.

“Um,” Louis starts again, before he finds his words. “Either there’s no need for Zayn’s couch or you just spilled your beer on me.”

Harry looks down. “The beer. Definitely the beer. Shit, sorry,” he apologizes. 

“It’s fine,” Louis says. He doesn’t really move to pull away, but he knows he should. He wants to bracket Harry in like this just a little bit longer. “We really shouldn’t do this,” he adds.

Harry hums like he’s not really surprised by the answer. “Why do you think that?”

“Because we work together, kind of. And you just ended something with someone.”

Harry looks like he wants to say something, but his eyes flick away and back and he must change his mind.

“Okay,” Harry says, not putting up a fight. 

“I mean, I would. It has nothing to do with what that guy said to you. I think you’re great and fit and I’m glad we’re friends.” Louis just wants someone to swoop in from the sky and punch him to force him to stop talking. “I’m just trying not to ruin my career, or your career. Or anything. I just don’t want to ruin anything.”

Harry looks contemplative again, and Louis realizes he doesn’t give Harry enough credit for his depth.

“You’re a regular martyr, Louis Tomlinson,” Harry says, patting Louis’ cheek fondly before ducking out of Louis’ grasp and stumbling back into the pub.

Louis follows him into the pub, but steers towards the bathroom to wash the spot off his trousers. Harry goes back to the booth, smiling and telling the boys that he spilt his beer on Louis. No harm, no foul, then. 

\---

When Louis wakes up in the morning, it’s to a crick in his neck and the sound of Niall’s snores on the floor a few feet away. 

Louis sits up, watching the light filter into the living room, and blindly pats at the ground around him until he finds his phone. The screen lights up, telling him it’s 8:03, and Louis has to blink a few times until he remembers that he didn’t take his contacts out the night before and things kind of hurt. His head kind of hurts, his eyes kind of hurt, and his neck more than kind of hurts. He’s got a flight to catch in a few hours, and he needs to somehow pull himself together into a respectable adult male in that time. He needs to be able to at least play the role of someone who doesn’t go out and get pissed before long work shifts, even if he may not be that noble.

He’s folding the blanket he spent the night engulfed in, and about to lay it on the couch when Harry’s eyes flutter open. Louis looks away quickly in case Harry thinks Louis was watching him sleep. He definitely wasn’t doing that. 

Harry props himself up on one elbow, rubbing the sleep from his eye with his other hand. 

“Whazza?” he whispers, blinking up at Louis. Louis, of course, finds this utterly endearing, despite his protests from the night before.

“Hi,” Louis mouths, glancing over to where Niall and Liam are still passed out on the floor, blankets wrapped up around them. Niall in particular looks like a little burrito, and Louis spares half a thought to take a photo of him to send later.

“Are you leaving?” Harry whispers.

Louis nods.

“Have to get some food and then get ready for my flight,” he says.

“Food?” Harry repeats, eyes widening. “I definitely need a hangover breakfast.”

Louis smiles. 

“Come on, then,” he mouths again, gesturing to where Harry is sprawled out on the couch. He’s got one bare leg hanging off the side, braced on the ground. Louis isn’t even sure if Harry went to bed wearing clothes the night before.

When Harry throws off the blanket, Louis sees that he is indeed wearing a pair of black boxer briefs. Very discrete. Louis looks away before Harry cottons on to the fact that Louis is perving on him. 

While Harry works to slide himself back into his jeans from the night before, Louis does let himself look for a moment, if only under the guise of making sense out of Harry’s tattoos.

“Nice work covering those up,” Louis whispers, pointing at the ink splashing across Harry’s upper arms and abdomen. “I didn’t know you had any.”

Harry turns and grins, before he shrugs over a worn t-shirt proclaiming the name of some small American town Louis is fairly sure Harry’s never been to. 

“Thanks,” he whispers. “I noticed some of yours last night, too. On your upper arm. Looked sick.”

Harry pats his back pocket to make sure he has his wallet, and then they quietly tip toe their way out the door, ease into their coats, and close the door softly behind them. Harry, who apparently has a spare key, locks it and then turns to Louis.

“Lead the way,” he gestures.

They walk back towards the tube station, passing a few restaurants lined in a row. 

“Hangover breakfast indeed,” Louis mutters, as he slowly pushes Harry into one of the restaurants. It’s not the poshest place he’s ever been to by any means. 

Louis and Harry both order tea, and Louis holds back his comment when Harry stirs in a teaspoon of sugar.

When their breakfast comes, Louis instantly feels more like himself, and like he may possibly be ready for a trans-Atlantic flight. He and Harry split a short stack of golden buttermilk pancakes, the half-melted pad of butter sitting like a crown on the top. They both have combination plates of eggs, bacon, toast, mushrooms and tomatoes. Louis fully intends on eating all of it.

Harry watches pensively as Louis liberally sprinkles pepper over his plate. Louis feels him watching, but doesn’t want to look up, for fear of Harry mentioning their kiss the night before. So instead, he over-peppers. 

“Mmmm,” Harry moans, which of course has Louis’ eyes flicking up before he can even control them. Harry’s eyes are closed, fork still in mouth, actually moaning over a bit of pancake.

“Sounds personal,” Louis laughs.

Harry chews and then gives a closed-mouth smile, his cheeks bulging.

He swallows.

“You’re lucky I’m not dancing in my seat. I do that sometimes.”

Louis laughs loudly, and Harry doesn’t even flinch.

“How am I not surprised?”

Harry shrugs. 

“Thanks for introducing me to Niall, by the way,” Harry says, clearly changing the subject. He’s speaking around a mouthful of mushroom, contradicting his normally well-bred appearance. “He’s awesome.”

“I’m glad you got on,” Louis says, pushing his own mushrooms around on the plate, before forgoing them and taking his fork to the stack of pancakes. “Knew you would.”

“It’s good,” Harry says, “having friends. I don’t know if you feel like this, but the last few months have made me feel sort of disconnected from stuff. Like, I’m always flying places, jetting to different cities, waking up either in a hotel or in a bloke’s bed or a friend’s couch. My house doesn’t feel like home.” Harry sighs, and Louis aches a little. “I don’t know. I love this job but I feel like a kid still, like I’m still in uni.”

Louis reaches out and loosely grabs on to Harry’s wrist until Harry looks up at him. 

“Don’t listen to what that prick said, mate,” Louis says. He knows they’re getting dangerously close to mentioning their kiss, but he wants Harry to know he at least remembers their conversation, and he cares about Harry’s emotional wellbeing. “You’re not a kid. You’re a young professional, for sure.”

Harry rolls his eyes fondly.

“Yes, well, I guess my point is that I feel kind of like a wandering spirit, without much of a home base or the ability to make connections. So, thanks,” Harry ends awkwardly.

“You’re welcome?” Louis responds quizzically. “I didn’t do anything. You charmed Niall yourself. And of course, you charmed me yourself, too,” Louis says, mock serious. At least he hopes it comes off mock serious. He’s being painfully earnest.

Harry smiles, and Louis realizes he’s still holding on to Harry’s wrist. He lets go, probably too quickly to avoid drawing attention to it, and retracts his hand, grabbing his own fork and knife again.

Louis feels really fucking transparent.

“Where are you even flying today?”

“Dulles,” Louis says, forking another sliver of pancake and dipping it in butter before shoving it in his mouth. Perhaps if his mouth is full of food, he’ll be less likely to spew random thoughts at Harry.

“Nice,” Harry says, sounding genuine. “I’ve never been to DC. Hopefully it’ll come up soon.”

“You’ll like it. You like museums?”

“Love them,” Harry gushes before taking a cautious sip of tea.

“Yep, you’ll like it.”

“Nice, think of me while you’re there,” Harry laughs. “Give me recommendations on which museums to visit. Whether the zoo there is anything special.”

“I happen to love zoos,” Louis argues.

“Yes, but zoos are everywhere. Penguins are at, like, every aquarium. There’s only one place where Abe Lincoln was assassinated.”

“Okay, boring mcboreface,” Louis laughs, patting at the corner of his mouth with his paper napkin.

“That one’s new, I have to admit. I haven’t got ‘boring mcboreface’ before.”

They eat until Louis feels like he’s going to give birth to some kind of extraterrestrial being. Harry gets up to use the loo in the back room, and by the time he gets back, he grabs his coat and ushers Louis out of his seat.

Louis moves to pull his wallet out, but Harry stops him.

“Just paid the bill over there,” Harry says, pointing to the older woman with her hair in a tight top knot, standing by a till. “As a thank you for listening to me whinge.”

“What are you on about?” Louis asks opening up his wallet and fishing through his notes. “You don’t have to pay me to be a mate.”

“Just let me, please. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I wanted to buy you breakfast. Also, you’re going to have a hellish flight, I can just tell, so I need to at least send you into battle with a full belly.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Louis laughs, but he puts his wallet back in his back pocket and shrugs his coat on.

Out on the pavement, Louis points at the direction his tube stop is in.

“I’m going that way,” he says. Harry nods.

“Alright. Thanks again. Text me funny pictures, please,” he adds.

Louis nods, and Harry swoops in to hug Louis. Louis’ arms wrap around him instinctually, and it’s definitely an embrace. Not quite the same as Louis’ hugs with Zayn and Liam the night before, and a little bit more _something_ than their hug the night before. Louis can’t quite put his finger on it, even as he pulls back.

Louis settles for a short wave as he’s walking backwards, not wanting to fully turn his back on Harry quite yet.

Harry smiles and returns the wave.

Louis forces himself to turn around and face the direction he’s walking in. He shoves his hands into his coat pockets, and keeps his head down, hiding the smile that’s threatening to break out across his face.

He thinks he understands what Harry means about connections.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, heaps of thanks to Liz for her comments/catching my Americanisms. :)
> 
> This is a work of fiction. Not harm is intended.

Louis picks up a miniature replica of the Washington Monument while in Dulles, almost as soon as he lands and is done with his duties. He grabs a bottle of Smart Water and a pack of Trident to cover up his souvenir eagerness. It’s entirely ineffective.

He’s heading back to London tomorrow evening, so he’s got a few hours in the morning to kill. He makes his way to his hotel for the night-- some kind of Holiday Inn-- and quickly strips off his uniform, making sure to hang it up on the hook on the bathroom door. He decides at the last minute to take a quick hot shower, so kicks off his pants and slides in, grabbing the soap before he’s even properly wet.

He doesn’t bother to put his pants back on after he’s done. He just faceplants down onto his bed, starfishing out to take in all of the space. Between the plane, the crash pad, and the girls’ noise at home, he feels like the only time he gets a decent night’s sleep is in a hotel.

This one isn’t the best he’s had before-- Sheraton tends to be his favorite. But when it comes down to it, Louis either gets a cheaper room and time alone or a nicer room but sharing it with a coworker. Tonight, he wants peace and quiet... hence the Holiday Inn.

Louis lets himself sink down into the duvet before flipping onto his back and grabbing the remote control. He flicks through the channels, most of them news, American sports he doesn’t particularly care for, and about three different weather reports. He settles on an old episode of The Simpsons, the animation looking quite dated, and it makes Louis feel old. Well, older than his 26 years, at least. 

He pulls out the room service menu, eyes skimming down the page, contemplating the merits of a BLT.

He’s asleep before the next commercial break.

When he wakes up several hours later, he feels as if he’s being dragged up from some very deep pit by his head. He blinks at the television, which now shows a man in a tank top instructing some young blonde woman in using an elaborate piece of exercise equipment. He blinks a few times, turns his head over, and sees that it’s 5:18 in the morning.

Louis flops back down.

He gives himself a few minutes to adjust to being a conscious individual. The good thing about heading west, he tells himself, is that his body thinks he’s had a lie in, when in actuality, he’s giving himself a jump start on the day. Time travel has funny ways, he thinks to himself.

He drags some pants and gym shorts on, unrolling the spare t-shirt in his carry-on, and laces up his travel trainers. Sparing a glance at the woman working out on the screen, he clicks the remote control, watching as the picture quickly reduces itself to black. Louis sets off down a couple floors to make use of a more traditional exercise mechanism, one that won’t cost him ten easy payments of $200. He shudders to think what that equals in pounds.

After a two mile run on the treadmill, he treats himself to a cup of coffee and a bagel with jam at the complimentary breakfast, then heads back up to his room for a quick shower. He unrolls his spare trousers and t-shirt, changes them, and leaves his room to go see some sights before he needs to be at the airport for his flight back to London.

The hotel van driver gives him and some other tourists a lift to the metro station, and Louis makes a beeline to get on the subway and head to the zoo. He briefly contemplates his last words as he clutches on to the handrail as he goes up what he has always suspected to be the world’s most terrifying escalator. 

Louis meanders around the park, making sure to stop by to see the panda bears first. For some reason, he’s always had a fondness for the pandas. He nudges the random older man next to him as the panda starts to adorably chew on its bamboo. The man laughs and leans closer to take a picture, his toddler granddaughter with her palm up against the glass, babbling at the animals. 

Then, Louis heads over to see the elephants, and then to the amphibian section, though he’s pretty hasty to make it out of that one.

He smiles at children who look at him with funny faces, always remembering to smile kindly at their parents, too, when the moms and dads inevitably turn to see what their kid is looking at. 

He goes through the gift shop, of course, and knows deep in his gut he wants to buy another souvenir for Harry. He reasons to himself that the miniature Washington Monument could be for anyone-- his mum, Lottie, or someone else. But he and Harry had just had that bit of banter about the zoo, and it’d be funny. Louis knows Harry would see the humor in it, and his wallet sits heavy in his back pocket because of that.

Louis goes back and forth between the shot glass with the mini floating panda bear and the souvenir golf ball with the panda bear. His fingers twitch momentarily as he briefly contemplates getting both, but... no. That’s just obsessive, he tells himself.

Steeling himself for the decision, he grabs the commemorative golf ball, thinking that Harry will at least appreciate the nod to Louis’ own cheerful disdain for Harry’s hobby. He pays for it quickly, and then heads out through the park, walking back towards the large gates and the rest of the city.

He grabs some Indian takeaway and finds a bench along the National Mall, popping open the styrofoam container that’s balanced on his knees. The cumin and chili smell wafts up, and Louis wastes no time in ripping off a piece of his naan and taking a chunk of the chicken and rice from his container. He shoves it in his mouth without preamble, licking before he even has a chance to withdraw his fingers. It’s good-- not as good as the place around the corner from his mum’s in Doncaster, and he’s sure he’s probably had better in London proper, but it’s enough to make him feel less unsettled. A good takeaway has a tendency to do that to him, which he suspects should be the opposite effect. 

He takes a photo of his dish, and plans on sending it to Harry as soon as he gets wi-fi.

Or Zayn, he reminds himself. He could definitely also send it to Zayn. Or Niall. And Liam. He should send it to everyone, he tells himself. He has friends other than Harry Styles, even if Harry Styles happens to be his favorite friend at the mo’. 

He finishes his food, licking around his yellow-stained fingers at the last bite, and pats his belly a few times for good measure. He looks around until he spots the nearest bin and discards the tray, before he turns and heads back to where he’s fairly sure the metro station is.

Back at his hotel, he takes a minute to brush his teeth, wash his face, and apply his moisturizer, before slipping back into his uniform.

Goodbye, comfortable trainers and worn-in t-shirts. Hello, polyester-blend waistcoat and shiny purple tie. 

He looks at his knot, tilts his head and examines closer, and then unties it and tries again. When he’s satisfied with the state of his Windsor, he spins on his heel and gathers up his belongings. He leaves a tip on the bedside table, and then manages to drag himself out of the room, carryon rolling quietly behind him. 

When he gets to Dulles, he checks in and heads to the boarding area. He’s a little early again, but as far as he’s concerned, it’s always better early than late. He hides in the corner for a little bit, connecting to the airport wi-fi on his phone, and tries to distract himself before the flight home. 

He pulls up Candy Crush, and quickly blows through his five lives, pouting at his screen as it might take pity on him and offer up more lives. He pulls up WhatsApp instead, sending off the pictures of his curry and a panda to the boys.

He taps away from the group conversation and into his private one with Harry. 

_Bought you sooooomething ;)_

He contemplates sending Harry a photo, but he wants him to squirm a little bit.

Harry seems to get the push notification straight away, even though it’s late in England.

_what? what? what? :D_

Then, before Louis can think of something suave and evasive, Harry adds:

_is it a puppy?!_

Louis smirks into his hand, trying not to laugh out loud. He taps out a response.

_Patience is a virtue! Go to sleep!!! You’ll get it soon, promise. x_

Louis turns off his phone before he lets himself wait for Harry’s response. It’s about time for him to actually do some work, besides.

\---

When everyone gets off the plane in London, it’s all Louis can do to sink into the nearest vacant row and press the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“Is it me, or was that ridiculous?” Louis whines.

“No, that was well bizarre,” Leigh Anne responds, leaning her entire weight on the headrest in front of her. She’s shifting her weight from leg to leg, and Louis is suddenly so very, very glad he doesn’t have to wear heels. He swallows his complaint about how his shoes are pinching his toes, and pulls out his phone.

“Yeah, it felt like all the babies were harmonizing their shrieks and cries to torture us like some tiny, tiny, chorus from hell.”

He turns his phone on and watches the little apple taunt him as it boots. He goes to WhatsApp immediately, noticing the little ‘1’. It’s Harry, of course.

_Is soon... like soon soon?_

Louis smiles at his phone. Leigh Anne kicks off her shoes and moves to grab a spare can of Diet Coke, popping it open and taking a quiet slurp from the can.

_lucky i understand you!! depends. just landed and am supposed to be cleaning the plane and helping with stuff. you know how it is. are you in london?_

Harry’s response takes a little longer this time. Louis spends that time definitely not waiting. He helps clean the plane, though he can feel Leigh Anne and Perrie’s side glances as he does so. Normally during clean up and inventory, Louis is full of songs, often narrating their chores via song. But this time he seems subdued, often reaching into his pocket, fingers flexing for his phone even though it doesn’t vibrate.

Louis is already on his way back to his crashpad when he gets Harry’s response.

_nope in HC. butttt if you are in yorkshire we should meet up! i have another week off or so and can come see you wherever. i want my present. .x_

Louis types back:

_regretting buying this! didn’t know you were so greedy!_

Harry sends back a sad emoji and Louis definitely doesn’t roll his eyes, except for how he does.

_i’ll call you tomorrow. i’m going up to yorkshire then for like two weeks until next flight. but now i need to go to sleep before i actually expire._

_goodnight then! .x_

Louis doesn’t trust himself to respond to that, so he doesn’t.

\---

When Louis calls Harry the next day, he’s on his way up to Yorkshire and Harry sounds exceedingly chipper over the line.

“Hiiiii,” Harry greets him. “Where are you?”

“Just north of the city,” Louis responds, peering around.

“Alright,” Harry laughs. “Let me come greet you at the station. I’ll give you a lift to your place, so you won’t need to take a taxi.”

“Also you get your present.”

“Also that,” Harry says, smile clear in his voice. “Okay, I have to get myself together if I’m gonna make it there. See you soon!” Harry hangs up before Louis even has a chance to respond. Louis looks at his phone for a moment, before letting it drop onto his lap.

When the train pulls into the station, Louis takes a quick peek around, and sure enough, Harry is standing there, waving.

“Hi,” he says, moving to hug Louis.

Louis mumbles a hello in response into Harry’s shoulder.

“How were the States?” Harry says, pulling back, but leaving a hand on Louis’ shoulder.

“Fine. Just saw the one. Though I heard a rumor that it’s not even a real state. I don’t get America,” Louis laughs.

“Bonkers,” Harry agrees, moving to grab Louis’ carryon as they slowly make their way to Harry’s car. Harry drives a red Volkswagon, a compact one at that, and Louis can’t contain his point-and-laugh moment watching lanky Harry curl his body up to fit into the driver’s seat. 

Louis directs Harry from the station to his home, all the while worrying what his mum is going to say when she sees a young, fit bloke drop him off at home. Picking someone up at a station or at an airport... those are things that actual couples do, or so he hears. He just knows his mother is going to make some kind of assumption and embarrass him in front of Harry.

“Here’s me up here on the left,” Louis gestures, as Harry nods and flicks his blinker.

“Thanks for the ride,” he adds, as he unbuckles and moves to pull his bags out of the boot. 

“Anytime,” Harry smiles, and follows Louis into the house without invitation. Instead of feeling annoyed or put-upon, Louis finds this incredibly charming. Harry did drive all the way over, and then gave him an out from either taking a taxi or calling his mum.

His mum.

His mum, who is currently barrelling her way down the stairs.

“Is that you, Louis?” she calls. “Who has the red-- oh, hello.”

She stops at the landing of the stairs, smiling at the two of them standing in the doorway.

“Hi mum,” Louis says, stepping forward to give her a kiss on the cheek. “This is my mate, Harry. He gave me a lift from the train station. We work together,” he adds, hoping it sounds casual enough. It should. It’s totally casual.

“Hi, ma’am,” Harry says, stepping forward to shake her hand. She bats his hand away and reels him in for a hug. Harry instantly melts into it and returns the affection. Louis associates with truly needy people.

“Please, dear, call me Jay. Ma’am, honestly.” 

There’s an onslaught of the sound of feet slapping hardwood right before Louis’ sisters come running around the corner and right into the kitchen.

“Hi, Louis,” comes from a number of directions, all high-pitched and unaffected. The girls jet off again before Louis even has a chance to say hello.

“You know, Louis,” his mother starts. “One of these days, you go away for two weeks and when you come back, Lottie will have taken over your room. She is going berserk sharing.”

Louis murmurs an agreement, but sees the subject as another way for his mother to pressure him about moving out. His mum, for all that she wants him to be happy and independent, also refuses to acknowledge that she needs Louis’ salary. Louis suspects that she feels guilty for relying on her son, so feels the need to try and convince him to leave, so that she can feel like she were actually encouraging him instead of stifling him. Not that Louis feels stifled, but... well.

Louis ushers Harry to sit down on the sofa, and he makes Harry hold a pillow over his face while he digs the presents out of his bag. When a present is secured in each fist, he tells Harry it’s okay to not suffocate anymore.

“Alrighty-- present time, bozo. Pick a hand, any hand.”

Harry grins and pretends to think it over for an extended amount of time. 

“Left one!”

“My left or your left?” Louis prods, wanting to drag it out and torture him a bit longer.

“Your left,” Harry responds quickly.

“Mine?”

“Yes, yours.”

Louis laughs.

“Okay, if you say so,” he says, removing the hand from behind his back and opening his palm. In it sits the miniature Washington Monument. Harry’s eyes light up, and he moves to grab at the statuette before Louis can even process it.

“I’m such a good guesser,” Harry says, with the same kind of zeal one might have if one were announcing one were six and a half.

“Oh, there’s more,” Louis says, smirking.

“There’s more?” Harry repeats. Louis nods.

Louis moves to bring his other hand around as well, but keeps his hand clutched tight as Harry tries to pry his fingers from around the golf ball.

“I can’t see,” Harry laughs. “You prick.”

Louis loosens his grasp, letting Harry pluck the golf ball out of his hands to inspect it.

“Oh my god, the zoo. This is the funniest thing ever,” Harry exclaims.

Harry peers at it for another minute, and then gives Louis a strong hug.

“Thanks so much, Lou.”

“No problem, babe.” Louis pulls out of their hug and taps Harry on the forehead, playfully pushing him back. Harry grins, the one that makes Louis feel like he’s in on a secret, and moves to slap Louis’ crotch. Louis’ fast, though, despite the traveling, and manages to leap away without tripping on something. He isn’t able to contain his indignant squawk, however. 

Louis’ mum enters the room cautiously, and the boys instantly freeze their horseplay, partly because they don’t want to break any teacups, and partly because they’re embarrassed to be caught in whatever strange mating ritual Louis likes to pretend they don’t have.

“Boys,” Jay says, placing a tray down on the coffee table and then turning and leaving the room, heading back up the stairs. The room falls quiet, and even though he can hear his sisters’ delighted shrieks and giggles from the other room, Louis becomes aware that he’s somehow clutching Harry’s thigh and wrist. 

Louis lets go and steps away, moves to fiddle with the tea cups on the tray. Harry turns to put his presents in his bag (“‘s quite feminine,” Louis had teased him on the drive over), so Louis doesn’t catch his expression.

Louis takes the tea bag out of his and drinks it black, sitting down and leaning back on the sofa to sip it in peace. He shuts his eyes and lets himself treasure the bitterness, and he feels the couch sink in next to him.

“Nothing like a home-brewed tea,” Louis says without opening his eyes.

He hears Harry murmur in agreement, and he cracks one eye to watch Harry fiddle with the milk and sugar, adding a little of both into his cup. He drinks it like that, light and sweet, and with the bag still in.

“If you took the bag out, you probably wouldn’t need the milk and sugar, you know,” Louis says.

“Oh hush, snob,” Harry laughs. “I knew you wanted to say something at breakfast the other day.” He blows a little at his cup before sipping it, loudly humming to show his satisfaction with his cup of tea. Louis arches an eyebrow, but otherwise doesn’t comment. Harry’s close-lipped grin widens.

“Your mum seems nice, and the girls are cute,” Harry says.

“Thanks. They are. The girls used to be cuter, but, as you know, adolescence.”

Harry nods knowingly. 

“How was your flight?” he asks quietly, before taking another slow slurp.

Louis groans. “Nothing bad happened, but it was just one of those really torturous ones. Ones where babies were crying, and then the other babies were crying because of those ones crying, and it just turned into this infinite loop of sobbing, myself included.”

“But their ears hurt,” Harry said sympathetically.

“So did mine!” Louis laughs.

“You’re horrible,” Harry says, smile still shining.

“Thank you.”

“DC didn’t change you,” Harry laughs.

“Well, I was only there for 20 hours.”

Harry takes another sip, and tucks one leg underneath him. Funny how Harry can make himself comfortable wherever he goes, Louis thinks. Harry is the type of person who can do this job, the adaptable type, the friendly type, the always sympathetic even when things are shit type.

“Oh, I’ve found that the right 20 hours can change a person,” Harry says quietly.

“Enigmatic, Styles,” Louis says. “Please share more.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “It’s nothing like that, but haven’t you ever had the feeling where you wake up and you just know things are different? You feel different, and it’s like there was some kind of veil over your eyes and it’s just gone? Like putting in your contacts?”

Louis does know, as a matter of fact, though sometimes he wishes he didn’t. It’s the kind of realization of showing up to work and hearing snickers and knowing that no one else in the cabin crew wanted to talk to you. Or those that did want to talk just looked on sympathetically. It’s the realization that you had misinterpreted something all along and what you thought was going somewhere was just you being foolish. Louis hates that feeling.

“You clearly know what I’m talking about, so maybe you’re the one who should share more,” Harry adds. 

Louis laughs, but it’s a bit cooler.

“I’m waiting,” Harry teases.

Louis sighs this time.

“Alright, alright. When I was a young lad, a mere 23, just younger than yourself, I was how shall we say... impressionable.”

Harry snorts.

“What? I was!” Louis says, shocked.

“I have a hard time picturing that, s’all.”

“Kind of,” Louis acquiesces. “Impressionable _enough_.”

Harry hums, still smirking.

“I may have been kind of easy,” Louis adds.

“Ah,” Harry nods. “Were you the one doing the, um, impressing, then?”

“Harold, I’m shocked. Like I was saying,” he adds with a pointed look, lowering his voice so his mother and sisters don’t overhear, “I fell into the trap of sleeping with my coworkers.”

“So?” Harry says, not laughing anymore. “There’re always one-night stands in this field. Niall told me so.”

“‘Niall told me so’, oh lord. It was a bad move because instead of a string of one-night stands with pilots and attendants, I started to repeatedly sleep with one.”

“Ah,” Harry nods. “I see where this is going.”

“Do you now? Sound familiar?” Louis takes another sip, letting it soothe his throat that’s itching with his confession. He drops his voice back down to a whisper.

“Basically, I kind of thought we had an unspoken thing. I mean, this went on for almost a year. Any time we flew together, we’d shag. Or if we were both in London, we’d shag. Needless to say, it was unspoken for a reason. Another flight attendant filled me in that she’d heard him shagging someone else through a hotel room wall.”

“Yeah, that would hurt,” Harry says sympathetically.

“Oh, it’s not over, my friend.” He takes another breath. “Basically, after that, I got irrationally jealous despite the fact that, looking back on it, we had never established any expectations, and decided to get revenge by sleeping with other people we worked with.”

“Oh,” Harry says.

“Yes,” Louis confirms. “Basically any male flight attendant was fair game. One pilot, too, but the attendants have a higher concentration of gay. Quite frankly, it got to an unprofessional place very quickly. I mean, not to mention that I was emotionally fraught because I was sleeping with these other guys out of misplaced revenge, not because I was genuinely attracted to them.” 

Louis stares at his cup, some dregs left at the bottom. He doesn’t want to look up and see Harry’s face. It’s embarrassing, really, remembering how messed up he was at that point in his life. He’s suddenly really, really glad Harry doesn’t know that version of him. He feels lucky that he still has Zayn, not to mention his job.

“The low point came when I worked a flight that was myself, three female flight attendants, and two other male flight attendants. I had slept with both of them, and it was the longest eight hours of my life. I heard them whispering about me in the back, actually comparing notes. I had that moment of realization that I had essentially ruined my career just after it had begun.”

Harry’s silent, mulling things over.

“I mean, shit, Lou. I guess certain things make sense now, but yeah. Wow. That really sucks, mate.”

Louis nods, and then pastes on a bright, albeit forced, smile. His voice returns back to his normal volume. 

“Yes, well, I didn’t ruin my career, managed to salvage it, and the rest of those arseholes ended up quitting or switching to new airlines. Thank god,” he adds.

“Definitely,” Harry agrees. Louis doesn’t even want to think of a world where Harry encounters one of those guys.

“So heed my advice, young one, don’t shit where you eat,” Louis says, wagging his finger at Harry. 

Harry smiles, and Louis reminds himself to take his own advice.

“Duly noted.”

Harry takes another sip of his tea, which must be stone cold by this point. Louis thinks iced tea is refreshing, hot tea is like a liquid hug, but cold, room temperature tea can only be described as the scum of the earth.

“You know, it makes sense, now that I know this, why you had such good advice when we first met.”

Louis chuckles. 

“Yeah, I may have spent a significant amount of time wondering what I would say to a younger me if I had access to a time machine. You just so happened to reap the benefits of that.”

“Well, I’m glad,” Harry says. “You did save me some heartache with that prick.”

Louis opens his mouth to respond, but the twins rush through again, stomping up the stairs yelling about getting revenge on the boys two houses down. 

Louis gulps, thinking about the intimidation factor he’s going to have to implement soon, if that’s the case. It’s best to play the big brother role up while he still can. The twins are entering their teen years, and soon those menacing neighbors will become boyfriends, and they’ll try to grope each other behind the hydrangea shrub. Louis bites back some vomit. He knows he was just as wild in his teen years, but he can’t help the protective urge rise up inside of him.

Louis’ mum wanders back down the stairs, smiling as she sees the boys on the sofa, turned in toward each other.

“Harry, please tell me you’re staying for supper, love.”

Louis feels torn, because while he wants Harry to stay, he also knows that the more time Harry spends at the house, the more his mum will suspect things, and try to pry information out of him. 

“I’d love to, thanks,” Harry says, genuinely, turning to smile at Louis as well.

Louis can’t help but smile back, but he’s all too aware of his mother and Lottie’s scheming ways.

In fact, Lottie comes ambling down the stairs, right before supper, and takes one look at Harry sitting on the sofa, and lets the grin slowly spread across her face. She quirks an eyebrow at Louis, and it instantly makes Louis want to find some kind of potion that would make the twins stay as they are, and prevent them from turning into the kind of meddling young adult like Lottie.

Lottie doesn’t say a word, but doesn’t let her eye contact break from Louis’ as she crosses the living room and into the kitchen. Once she’s in the kitchen, she lets out a loud, “Louis, will you please move out so I can take your room?”

Harry laughs loudly, and Lottie pops her head back around the corner.

“I’m not joking, Random Stranger of Louis’. If I have to deal with _her_ late night texts and her rhinoceros-like snoring for much longer, I will literally sell internal organs and move away to uni.” She turns and flits back into the kitchen, and Louis turns to look at Harry’s expression.

“Yeah, that’s my sister, Lottie. She’s fun.”

Harry chuckles and gives Louis a significant look.

“Honestly, this all makes so much sense now.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but Harry keeps smiling, even after Louis threatens to take away his presents. They both know it’s an idle threat.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said there'd be no mile high club? I lied, kind of. I just didn't want you to get your hopes up. ;)
> 
> Also, just to be safe, there is some misogyny in this chapter, so if that affects you, please advise. 
> 
> As always, I don't mean any harm, and have no affiliations with anyone mentioned in this fic. Many thanks to Liz again!

Now that Louis’ told Harry a bit more about his past, Louis feels a lot closer to Harry. Harry was already his favorite friend at the mo’, but now that Louis’ opened himself up, he realizes the need to hold on. Harry’s already heard some of his darkest stuff, the stuff that keeps Louis up at night, staring at the ceiling, the stuff that makes Louis loathe himself. Yet, Harry doesn’t turn his back, doesn’t even blink. He sat down at dinner with Louis’ mother and sisters and wedged himself just that much further into Louis’ life. Fuck if Louis didn’t like it though, even with all the alarms going off in his head.

Weeks, then months, fly by, and Louis measures them in takeoffs and landings. He finds himself buying souvenirs for Harry in different cities, gifting them when they’re both in London at the same time. 

In Chicago, it’s a mug that says “Al Capone: Big Shot” and a flapper’s headdress, which Harry immediately places over his thick, wavy mane. Louis is glad he went with the headdress as opposed to the pinstripe fedora, for fear of Harry genuinely wanting to wear it all the damn time.

In Orlando, it’s a Mickey Mouse hat, which Harry also immediately pastes on top of his head, forcing the curls to stick down to his forehead. Louis notices a trend in his presents. Next round in Orlando, Louis also offers up Donald Duck and Daisy Duck Pez dispensers, which Harry clutches to his chest. Louis finds that he loves giving presents to Harry, who truly appreciates everything. 

Miami finds Louis agonizing over whether the ceramic statuette of a busty girl on the beach is too far on the side of offensive, and whether or not Harry will appreciate the humor. Louis takes the risk, and rings it up, only noticing afterwards that the figurine was actually a salt shaker, and granules supposedly come out of the girl’s tits. Louis slaps himself in the forehead, but trusts that Harry will find it mildly amusing. Needless to say, Harry is thrilled, proclaiming that he’s ‘going to use it to salt _everything_.’ 

Harry finishes his probationary period, and their little ragtag band of brothers go out to celebrate. It’s rare that they’re all in the same place at the same time, so it feels a bit like fate that they can share this night together.

“After my six months,” Niall laments, “I went out and pulled about five birds in one weekend.”

“I refuse to believe that,” Liam says, stonefaced. 

“I’m pretty sure I ate pot noodles in my flat and wondered where I had gone wrong in life,” Zayn adds.

“I’m fairly sure I texted Zayn incessantly, adding to his feelings of ennui,” Louis says, looking at Harry. Harry chuckles and gives him a subtle wink.

“To each their own,” Harry says. “I think a pint with my best mates will do.”

Louis looks down at the table and feels his face heat up. He wishes more than anything that he could prevent his own blushing, but his face gives him away. He chances a glance up at the other three, and they are all smiling shyly, not wanting to draw attention to Harry’s obvious implication, but still pleased. At least, Louis himself feels pleased.

In an interesting turn of events, the night ends fairly early, Harry claiming to be “too jet lagged to function any more.” Louis certainly doesn’t mind, as he had seen Liam and Zayn both trying to disguise their yawns for the previous hour. 

The group walks towards the tube, with Liam, Zayn, and Niall up front, chatting away about good places to get Turkish food in West London. Harry and Louis hang back, and it feels comfortable. Louis isn’t drunk, just feeling the warmth settled down in his gut, and it makes him feel in control. It makes him feel like he can be an adult, control his actions, control his attraction to Harry.

“So I’ll see you next week?” Harry says, even though they’ve already talked about this five times.

“Yes, Viva Las Vegas, etc etc,” Louis responds, because he knows they’re flying together next week. He’s checked-- and double checked-- since.

“Make sure to bring your wallet, Tomlinson. I’m going to take you for all you’re worth,” Harry teases, hip-bumping Louis as they get close to the station.

“Make sure that you do, Haz,” he replies. He realizes that he’s still not in control at all.

When Louis gets to Gatwick the next week, he’s already running a bit late. Well, not late per se, but he’s late to get there early, which is what he normally goes for. Harry beats him there, and as Louis strolls up to the check-in gate, he finds Harry leaning against the podium and talking to a few women in their ruby red uniforms. 

Louis recognizes Danielle and Eleanor, and there’s someone else that he’s seen in passing, but doesn’t remember her name. Eleanor makes eye contact with him and waves genially. Louis smiles and offers a wave in return. She moves to greet him with a hug as he reaches them.

“Louis,” he hears Harry say. 

He finishes giving Eleanor her hug before he turns to Harry. 

“Hey, Haz. Hi Danielle,” he greets, before he turns to introduce himself to the other attendant. Her name is Jesy and Louis is instantly enamored, with her thick head of curls barrelling down over her left shoulder and lips that look like they’ve been painted with the blood of her enemies. Jesy is Louis’ kind of girl.

“I didn’t know you guys knew each other,” Harry says, gesturing between Eleanor and Louis.

“We went through training together,” Eleanor explains. 

“Oh, so you also know Zayn?”

Eleanor, Danielle, and Jesy exchange giggles. 

“Who doesn’t know Zayn?” Danielle asks.

“I personally don’t see the appeal,” Louis deadpans. He then turns to Danielle. 

“Danielle, what have you been up to, babe? I feel like we haven’t crossed paths in years.”

“Because we haven’t, Lou,” Danielle replies with a smile. She smooths out her hair which has been pulled back into a neat and slick ponytail. Her eyeliner looks expertly applied-- Louis’ predominant memory of Danielle involves her perched on a sink trying to do her eyeliner quickly before they started calling guests to board. Since becoming a flight attendant, Louis has found himself in more toilets with women than he’d care to admit. 

“Just moved into a new flat, actually,” Danielle says. “Just finished shifting the last boxes on Sunday. That old place I was in was just shite,” she says, lowering the last word. “I’m moving up in the world.”

“So true,” Eleanor agrees. “I helped her. The new place is definitely an upgrade and no one’s selling meth on her front porch yet.”

“Yet,” Jesy adds.

One of the workers wave them in, so they sneak in through the door and head down the aerobridge. Louis likes hearing the sound of the girls’ heels clicking powerfully as they walk down, but he does always kind of feel bad for them. This is going to be a long flight, he thinks to himself. If he were a nicer person, he’d offer up a foot massage, but he’s not.

Eleanor and Danielle greet the passengers as they board, and Louis, Harry, and Jesy busy themselves with finishing up inventory and getting ready for takeoff. 

Jesy does the safety announcements, if only because Louis begs her to do so. Her accent is thick, and as she gets to the middle of her spiel, she flips her normal Essex accent into a generic Australian one. Louis looks over to see Harry smiling behind his hand as the passengers’ faces contort with confusion. Louis sees an older couple he’s standing by look at each other as if to pass a telepathic ‘has she always been Australian?’

Louis looks down to avoid cackling out loud, but he holds up and tugs on the seatbelt display, just to remind the passengers how to fasten their seatbelts. He’d hope by this point in their lives they’d catch on, but with this job, one might never know. 

When they move to sit for take-off, Harry leans over to whisper to Jesy. Louis tries not to smell him, but Harry’s cologne is particularly well-suited today, and Louis is only so strong. 

“Please, please do any announcements with an American accent.”

“Yes!” Louis agrees, pointing at Jesy. “It’ll blow their minds,” he adds in a whisper.

“You’re all terrible,” Eleanor says, but she’s laughing along with them. “Didn’t you just finish your probation?” she adds to Harry.

Harry smirks.

“Terrible,” Danielle echoes.

“Oi,” Louis interrupts. “Stop picking at my boy,” he adds. “Harry has been very strait-laced and accommodating and all the things that we are supposed to be, but really aren’t. I think it’s high time for some shenanigans.”

“You always think it’s high time for shenanigans,” Eleanor says.

Louis shrugs.

Take-off goes fine, and no one gets sick. Louis takes this as a good sign. This is a long one, a little over 10 hours, and Louis doesn’t want to smell spew for all of it.

Harry and Jesy prepare the drink and lunch carts almost as soon as they stabilize, and the rest of them go to take orders.

“Hi sir, did you request the Asian Vegetarian option?” he asks. 

“I requested the vegetarian,” says one man, only slightly confrontational. “What makes it Asian?”

“It’s the sauce,” he replies. “It’s spicy.” The response rolls off his tongue like a tape recording. He’s still not sure that calling the dish the ‘Asian Vegetarian’ option is all that couth, but he goes with it for the sake of the job.

“I’d like the fish,” says the woman next to him, leaning into his space to talk to Louis.

“Wonderful,” Louis says. “Right now, I’m just double checking the pre-requested meals for those with dietary requirements, but when I come through with the trolley, I will more than happily hand you the fish lunch.” 

The woman slumps back in her seat, and Louis looks down his list to find the next person with an accommodation. He checks with the seven people who requested the Gluten Free, as well as the two who requested the Diabetic option, one Vegan, and five other vegetarian meals. 

“Gluten Free wins this round,” Louis mutters to Harry as he hands the checklist over to him. They huddle in the back, listening to the ticking of the food heating up. 

“Vegetarian put up a good fight,” Harry says.

“Asian Vegetarian, you mean,” Louis teases.

“Oh yes, how silly of me to forget,” Harry laughs, rolling his eyes. They move quickly to stack the dishes into the trolley, and Louis grabs it once it’s full to move towards the front of the plane. Danielle is doing the same in the other aisle, and Jesy and Eleanor are halfway down the coach cabin handing out meals as well.

“Chicken or fish?” he listens to himself repeat, over and over.

He hopes that the chicken doesn’t get eaten before he gets a chance to snag some. For some reason, he’s always been very wary of airplane fish.

Only once the passengers are well-fed, have their thirst quenched, and he and the others have swept through the cabin with trash bags, do they finally have a chance to rest.

“Well, eight more hours to go,” Eleanor says, peering into her hand mirror to check her makeup.

Beside her, Danielle makes a quiet noise of despair. 

“29F was definitely perving at my bum,” she whispers. “I so don’t want to deal with that for the next several hours. Hopefully he falls asleep.”

“I’ll switch with you,” Harry says. “He probably won’t perve on my bum.”

“Not much to perve on, Haz,” Louis jokes. It’s too easy, really.

“Well, no. Which is why I will take that section, so as to not tempt his stoneage instincts.”

“You’re a doll, Styles,” Danielle responds. “Any creeps in that section, you think?”

“There are always creeps,” Jesy says, as she pops in to grab another can of Diet Coke for a passenger.

Eleanor shrugs, and they move to sit in their jump seats, if only to give their feet a break. 

A call light blinks on up ahead, and Eleanor moves to go answer it. The boys watch her reach up to press it off, and then turn to the passenger to see what they want. Though Louis and Harry can’t hear, Eleanor’s face contorts, and she doesn’t look pleased. Harry and Louis exchange a look, Harry’s mouth drawn tight, and Louis can only assume that the passenger is saying something rude.

Eleanor turns and walks briskly down the aisle back to where the boys are sitting and walks right by them and into the galley, huffing.

Danielle is talking to a passenger, but the other three surround Eleanor, Jesy putting her hand out to soothe Eleanor, who’s clearly frustrated.

“El?” Harry’s the first to ask.

Clearly someone addressing the fact that she’s visibly upset is what breaks the dam, because Louis sees her eyes water up and her cheeks get all pink and splotchy. The tip of her nose goes pink, too, and Louis can see her trying to hold back.

“It’s not a big deal,” she says.

“Um,” is all Louis can say.

“Just another day at the job. It’s nothing unusual. Just, um, him being like, ‘oh, you’re really fit, you’d be fitter out of the uniform and naked in my bed.’” Harry visibly grimaces.

“Apologies on behalf of my gender,” Louis says, although he realizes he’s being glib.

“What would possess someone to think they could just talk to someone that way?” she says. “He doesn’t even know me. He definitely doesn’t care that I could, like, be in a relationship or that I’m in my work place, just. Ugh. What did he even expect me to say to that? ‘Oh wow, thank you for your attention, now let me strip off and let you take me here?’” She ends her rant with another frustrated grunt.

“What a prick,” Harry agrees. 

“I’ll be back,” Jesy says, and grabs a bottle of water before walking down the aisle towards where 14D sits, headphones over his ears, staring at the screen in front of him.

“Oh no,” Harry says, obvious dread in his voice.

Louis watches in what feels like slow motion as Jesy uncaps the water bottle and quite obviously tips it into the man’s lap.

“Oh, no!” she gasps, though the woman in the row behind them lets out a chuckle.

The man jumps up, immediately knocking his head into the overhead storage bin, curses loudly as he clutches his head, and then turns an evil eye to Jesy.

Jesy, who has now permanently fixed a place for herself in Louis’ heart, just stares him down, refusing to let him intimidate her. 

“I’m so sorry, sir. Must have tripped coming down the aisle. Let me get you a flannel.” She doesn’t sound sorry in the least.

Jesy spins on her heel and walks back towards the galley, trying not to look too smug. Louis knows she has no intentions of bringing that man anything.

“Fuck, I am going to get in so much trouble for that,” she whispers as she reaches them. Harry gives her a high five.

At hour six, Eleanor is back to her close-lipped smiling self, though she understandably avoids 14D after their spectacle. 

Louis, on the other hand, starts to feel sluggish. He’s downed a burnt cup of coffee in the galley, and his back is starting to ache from leaning down to hear what passengers are saying to him over the sound of the engines and fans. Of course, this is when he spots the couple heading into the loo together.

“No, don’t,” he whispers dramatically, reaching out a hand as if to stop them. They, of course, are all the way down the other end of the cabin and don’t hear him. Harry does, however.

“Part of me wants to be all, ‘hey, congrats for getting laid and being resourceful’. The other part of me is all, ‘No, gross, why.’” Harry responds, eyeing the toilets disdainfully. They see the green bathroom light flick on, and Louis drops his head to his hands.

“No fucking way am I dealing with this,” Jesy says. “At this rate, I’ll just hand ‘em a condom and a bottle of tequila.”

“Mr. Branson would approve, I’m sure,” Harry laughs.

“He would, the old dog,” Louis agrees. “Not to worry, gals. I’ll get this one. At this point, I barely balk in the face of straight people doin’ it.”

“I want to watch,” Harry says, before he catches himself. 

Louis clutches his stomach with the weight of his own laughter. 

“I don’t mean. Stop.” Harry narrows his eyes at Louis, though the corners of his mouth are quivering in an effort to not laugh, as well. He tries again, choosing his words carefully. “I have never had to break up a romp in the toilets! They didn’t teach me this at training! Stop.”

Louis tries to calm himself, but he’s still giggling as they make their way down the aisle. Clearly, other passengers are privvy to what’s going on as well, seeing as their heads start popping into the aisles to watch this unfold.

“So, Harold, in order to break up the mile high club, the first thing to do is to make sure that it’s not a medical emergency.”

Louis reaches out and knocks lightly on the only toilet currently occupied.

“Hi, cabin crew Louis, here. Everything alright in there?”

He hears a rustle of fabric, and an elbow (or so he hopes) hitting the wall, but no verbal response.

He turns to Harry and grimaces.

“So now...?” Harry prompts.

“Next, we knock louder, and if needed, forcefully open the door. God help us,” he adds as he reaches out and knocks more forcefully.

“I’m going to open the door, now,” he says, loudly and slowly to get his point across. He hears more rustling around, and more bumping against the door from the inside. He shudders to think about the state of that bathroom from the last few hours, and now? Ugh.

“I feel wrong, preventing people from having sex,” Harry mutters, as Louis moves to unlock the bathroom.

The door pops open, and there’s the middle-aged couple, balancing on one foot each, cramped in the space between the sink and the toilet, caught fixing their clothes and trying to flatten their hair.

Harry and Louis blink at them for a moment. They all look a little wide-eyed and embarrassed. 

“Aw, they’re cute, though,” Harry says, breaking the silence. Louis resists the urge to slap his own forehead.

“Hi,” Louis barrels on, speaking over Harry. “If everyone is medically okay, I’m going to have to ask you to return to your seats and use the loos individually. These are quite small, as you can see, and quite frankly, this seems unhygenic. So... yeah, please return to your seat. Thanks.”

Harry is still looking at them thoughtfully, so Louis kindly pushes him along back to the galley area, watching out of the corner of his eye as the couple sheepishly return to their seats. The cabin is suspiciously quiet, even with the lights dimmed.

Harry leans up against the cabinets, and blinks down at Louis.

“It’s kind of sweet, though, innit?”

“Public sex?”

Harry smirks.

“No, I mean, like, still being with someone and being in your fifties and still wanting to get down in random places.”

“They’re fifty, not dead,” Louis chuckles. “And you don’t even know if they’ve been together long. They could have just gotten together. Newlywed sex, or something.”

“True,” Harry says, nodding. “I just hope that I’ll still want to shag someone all the time when I’m older and have to use Viagra.”

Louis guffaws, but stares at Harry fondly.

“I’m sure you will. At least I can guarantee you’ll find someone who will want to shag you all the time, even if you have to use Viagra.”

“You think?” Harry asks absent-mindedly as he rearranges his hair. 

“Definitely,” Louis says. “You’re only in trouble if you lose your hair. Then you’ll die alone with naught but your five cats and decades worth of The Daily Mail to keep you company.”

When the plane lands in Las Vegas, they, along with the passengers, are ready to hurl themselves off the plane if necessary. The crew members rush the passengers along, with Louis and Danielle at the door to the plane waving them off, Harry and Eleanor doing seat checks, and Jesy finishing up the inventory in the galley. 

When the last passenger is off the plane and the pilots go back into their den, Eleanor takes off her heels and hurls them down the aisle. 

Harry dodges out of the way, and watches them bounce off a couple of seats, until they come to a rest on the ground.

“Seriously, fuck that flight,” Danielle agrees.

“I want to quit,” Eleanor says. “I’m sick of being treated this way.”

“I’m probably going to get fired,” Jesy says.

The boys exchange looks. Louis sometimes forgets how hard the ladies of this job have it. He gets the diminutive comments sometimes from women about how “cute” male flight attendants are, and he hears the muttered slurs from the homophobes, but they’re far and few between. He remembers that the ladies get hit on all the time. Sometimes the men are just mildly annoying and overconfident, and other times they’re aggressive and scary. It makes Louis feel lucky, but also angry on their behalf. 

Louis turns to see Harry grabbing handfuls of nips and throwing them into a plastic bag. He raises his eyebrow at Harry, and Harry’s grins when he realizes he’s been spotted.

“Oh ho ho,” Louis teases. “Someone comes off probation and now he’s making trouble.”

Harry’s grin grows as he puts his finger up to his mouth to ‘shh’ Louis. It’d be more intimidating if Louis couldn’t see Harry’s dimple, as well.

“Group bonding,” Harry half-heartedly explains.

\---

When they finally get off the plane, they head to their hotel, a Best Western close to the airport.

Jesy suggests a drink and then a trip to the strip, so they can celebrate their last night as flight attendants before she gets fired and Eleanor quits.

Harry and Louis are splitting a room, while the other three girls argue over who gets the bed to herself in their room. So far, it seems like Jesy is winning. 

Harry moves to beat Louis into the shower, already stripping off his uniform before making it to the bathroom. When he emerges, he looks surprised to see the girls in their room, laying on their beds. Louis is sitting at the desk, still in uniform but missing his socks, shoes, and tie. Eleanor and Danielle perch themselves on Harry’s bed, both of their legs tucked underneath them. Their heels litter the floor and Harry looks up just in time to see Jesy peeling off her tights and throwing them to the floor.

“Hate those bloody things,” she says. 

Harry maneuvers his way around the shoes like an obstacle course, holding the towel loosely around his waist.

“Okay girls, avert your eyes,” he says.

The three of them giggle.

“Louis doesn’t have to avert his eyes!” Eleanor points out.

“Oi!” Harry says, acting scandalized. “I feel objectified.”

The girls all look between Harry and Louis, and Louis suddenly feels like he is under intense scrutiny.

“Oh,” Danielle says slowly, smiling like she’s heard some very juicy gossip.

“No,” Harry and Louis both say in unison, briefly making eye contact before looking away. He feels burned, a little bit. Louis does avert his eyes, however, not wanting to draw any more attention to the fact that Harry’s naked a few feet from him. He’s definitely not thinking about it too hard.

The girls don’t say anything else, but their smirks are still there. 

“Louis, go get in the shower, will you?” Jesy says. “We’ll head out in a little bit, take a taxi to the strip, yeah?”

Louis does as he’s told, not bothering to pull out his travel-size shampoo and soap. He instead uses the hotel’s samples, which Harry had not touched, which makes his hair smell like lavender. He hears lavender is supposed to be calming, which is good. He didn’t think that spending the night in the same room as Harry would be a big deal, but apparently, no one told his heart or his stomach that. 

Louis pats himself dry, and wraps the towel around his waist, making sure it’s secure before he pokes his head out of the door. 

It’s quiet in the room, and Louis figures the girls must have evacuated right after he got in the shower. 

“Haz?” he calls out into the room, wondering if Harry’s left as well.

There’s no response, so he steps out into the room, eyes going right to Harry’s empty bed.

The pile of shoes have gone, but Jesy left behind her stockings, and that’s when Louis notices the bare feet sticking out from behind the bed.

Louis tiptoes around, where he finds Harry, completely passed out on the floor, dressed only in his pants.

So much for group bonding.

“The bed is less than a meter away,” he laughs to himself. He holds his towel still with one hand, and then yanks Harry’s duvet clear off the bed to lay it down on top of him.

He then turns and slips his own pants on, and dives into the bed. Like Harry, his eyes are shutting even before he is able to set his head down on the pillow. It was a long day. 

\---

Louis blinks awake a few hours later and instantly craves tea. He sits up and peers down at the floor, where Harry is still sleeping. He’s got his pillow now, however, so Louis assumes that he must have woken up in the night. Instead of getting into bed like a normal person, Harry just crashed back down on the floor. Louis rolls his eyes, even though there’s no one there to see it. Harry’s the quirkiest person he knows, and dammit if Louis wasn’t fond of all of it.

Louis pulls himself out of bed when he does the math and realizes he’s been sleeping for about ten hours. It’s still early in Las Vegas, but his body thinks it’s mid afternoon. He’s been to Vegas before, and he remembers someone telling him that the city doesn’t even start waking up until after noon. Louis wonders where he’ll be able to get a cup of tea at six thirty in the morning. He hopes caffeine might be able to stop his head feeling like it’s filling up with helium, or else it will be a very long flight back to England. 

He goes for a run instead, using the hotel’s fitness center and listens to his ‘girl bands of the 90s and early 2000s’ playlist to get him through it. 

Just as he’s going on his fourth kilometer and Atomic Kitten are telling him to do it to them good and like he should, he looks up and sees Harry standing grumpily on the other side of the glass door. Louis smiles and waves him in.

“Boo,” Harry says as he joins Louis on the treadmill next to him. “I thought you’d be here.”

“Not much else to do in hotels at random hours,” Louis muses, before he starts to pick up his pace again. He definitely tries to not notice that Harry’s gym shorts are absurdly short. He fails at not noticing, but he does mentally pat himself on the back for not verbalizing this fact aloud. Apparently he’s developing a filter.

“Girls took the nips from my bag last night. I’m guessing they went out and had a fun night,” Harry mentions as he presses buttons on the treadmill.

“Let’s hope they won a couple thousand quid and feel like sharing, yeah?” 

Harry walks to warm up, and out of the corner of his eye, Louis sees Harry watching him as he runs. It makes him feel self-conscious, knowing that the guy he lusts over against his better judgement sees the sweat trickling down from his hairline.

Harry works his way up to a jog, and looks away from Louis. Louis breathes a little bit easier.

“So, there was something I wanted to tell you,” Harry says. Louis feels his heart try to make its escape out of his mouth.

“Yeah?” Louis says. “Couldn’t find a time during the hours we were trapped in a confined space together?”

“Weren’t alone,” Harry replies, smiling. “It’s not that big of a deal, but I don’t know. You were good at advice before.” Harry trails off.

Louis nods, but he’s groaning inside. The last thing he wants to do is give Harry romantic advice. Not when he’s not benefitting from any of Harry’s... romance.

“So, like, I’m going to move to London,” Harry says.

“What?” Louis says, stopping his jog to turn and look at Harry dead on. “To move in with Older Douche Guy?”

“What?” Harry asks, confused. “No.”

“Oh, sorry. You were saying?”

“I’m just so sick of going back and forth from Cheshire and London, sleeping on Zayn’s sofa, and just, like, meandering. I think Older Douche Guy, as you so lovingly put it, made me realize that I _was_ kind of immature. I’m still living at home--”

“Hey, I still live at home,” Louis protests.

“It’s different. You support your mum. My mum is remarried and doesn’t have a gang of girls to feed and clothe.”

“You make, like, less than ten grand a year, Haz,” Louis points out. He doesn’t know why he’s so unsettled by the thought of Harry moving into London, but he is. 

“Not for long, now that I’m off probation. I’ll get a raise and have a livable salary soon. But yeah, I feel like I need to take care of myself. I’ve been letting other people take care of me. I need to push myself outside of my comfort zone, even if it means eating beans and rice for the next, like, seven months.”

“Um, honestly, Haz, and this is tough love, but the idea that you can just up and move into the city despite not having the means is kind of irresponsible.” Louis purposefully doesn’t say ‘immature’. He knows that that’s a serious button for Harry, and knowing that he needs to fly back to London later with him means that he doesn’t want to anger him.

“I’ve worked it out. Don’t worry. Zayn and I are going to move into a two bedroom flat, possibly a split, and--”

“Wait, Zayn?” Louis sounds incredulous at this point. “You’re moving in with Zayn?”

“Yes,” Harry smiles, not picking up on Louis’ mood. “We get on, and I’m easy to live with. I do a lot of helping around the flat,” he adds, winking. 

He suddenly notices Louis’ frown. “Why is your face like this? Are you not excited?”

Louis schools his face into something resembling a supportive friend. 

“Of course I’m excited, Haz. I was just worried about your diet, s’all. Don’t want you wasting away.” Louis leans away from his treadmill to pinch at Harry’s waist.

“Oi! Running here!” Harry laughs.

“So when’s the big move?”

“Two, three months,” Harry says, grinning. “Gotta find a lease first. Zayn doesn’t want to leave Ealing, but like, my budget is a little thin, y’know?” Harry’s clearly excited and Louis doesn’t blame him. London is wonderful. London is exciting. Harry won’t have to trek back and forth for weeks at a time to fly out, and he won’t have those cricks in his neck from curling up on Zayn’s sofa. He’ll have a place to call his own, and somewhere he won’t feel like such a nomad. This is good development for Harry. 

Louis knows all of this, in theory.

What he can’t quite figure out, however, is why his stomach feels like it’s churning tarmac and why he feels like he’s losing grip of Harry already.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has recced, commented, left kudos, bookmarked, etc. I see you and I appreciate you. ;)
> 
> Here is the second to last chapter. The last chapter has a lot going on in it, so it'll be a little bit longer, and yes, the rating will go up. 
> 
> As always, no harm is meant. Some of the nuggets of wisdom from Zayn in this chapter are from Zayn's twitter, and are not my own words.

Another month goes by, and Louis is treated to text after text of rental updates from Harry. Texts like _‘Is it worth it if there’s no parking? I mean, what if I want to bring my car down in the future?’_ and _‘do you think a dishwasher is a silly deal breaker to have?’_ are becoming more and more expected. Louis didn’t realize that Harry, outside of living at uni, had never had a long-term living arrangement on his own. Louis gets why this is so important to Harry, definitely, but he just has a bad feeling about it. 

Typically, when these texts come through, Louis responds with a bog standard, ‘ _you are being ridiculous. anywhere clean and less than 1000 a month will be a godsend._ '

Zayn hasn’t mentioned anything to Louis, but they haven’t really talked as much since their night out to celebrate Harry leaving his probation period. Louis isn’t angry or anything, he realizes that his behavior is not normal and not becoming of a 26 year old fake adult. If he had to be honest, his current emotions are like a deck of cards that someone decided to scatter across the floor and he doesn’t quite know how to put them back in order.

He’s sitting in the kitchen as everyone else in the house rushes around getting ready for work or school. He’s looking down at the paper, but not really reading it. His eyes pass over each word, each line, but his brain’s really thinking about Harry, and how he’s changing, and how he’ll outgrow Louis even before they’ve known each other a year.

His mum comes in without him noticing, placing some bread in the toaster.

She does a double-take when she sees him reading the newspaper, or more specifically, the page he currently has open.

“Since when have you taken an interest in the obituaries, love?” she says, watching as his head snaps up, caught. 

“Not really reading,” Louis confesses. 

“Do you want this toast, then? I don’t think the girls will want it.” She takes a sip from her cold mug of tea, grimacing.

“13 seems to be too young to think breakfast isn’t cool,” Louis muses.

“You were just as bad,” Jay laughs. “Refused to wear a jumper outside in the dead of winter. Thought admitting you ate before school would brand you a loser.”

“I don’t believe you,” Louis shakes his head, even though he remembers those fights well.  
His mum gives him a long look.

“My friend Harry is moving into a flat with Zayn,” Louis tells her. “I don’t like it.” It’s very succinct, if he does say so himself.

“That’s why you’re staring at the newspaper?” she asks.

Louis nods.

“Harry’s excited because he lives with his mum and this is like his big growing up type gesture, living on his own.”

Louis’ mum hums loudly, smirking.

“Stop,” he says. 

“I didn’t start anything,” she says, holding her hand up. She looks at the clock on the wall and braces herself for another sip of tea. “Is Zayn excited too?”

“Haven’t talked to him about it,” Louis admits. He sees where this is going even before his mum says anything else.

“Please tell me it’s because he’s off the map and away from all forms of technology and not because, I don’t know, you’re maybe a little bit jealous for any number of reasons.” She takes another sip, this time much more pointed.

Louis wonders why he got cursed with a mum that calls him out on his shit all the time. His mum was the type who, when getting a call from the school, would immediately turn to him and ask what he’d done. To be fair, he always had done something to warrant the phone call, but still. He wonders if it’s too late to trade her in for a mum that’s eternally understanding and lets him whinge all the time without consequence.

Louis is quiet for a moment, and in that moment, the toast comes popping up. Jay puts the toast on a small plate, and slides it over to Louis with a knife and butter. She doesn’t add more to her conversation with Louis, just pecks him on the cheek and heads up the stairs to presumably put on her makeup.

Almost immediately, Fizzy walks into the room, uniform wrinkled, eyes still blinking. Louis thinks there’s something to be said for the theory on teenagers being nocturnal creatures.

“I’m hungry,” Fizzy announces.

“Congratulations,” Louis laughs, passing over his toast to her. She takes a small bite off the corner, brushing the crumbs off after they fall on her shirt.

“Can I just stay home with you?” Fizzy says, spurting out more crumbs as she attempts to talk around a mouthful of toast.

“You wish,” Louis responds. “I’ve got some major catching up on jetlag to do. And by jetlag, I mean Made in Chelsea.”

Fizzy moves to open her mouth, and Louis interrupts her.

“Don’t tell me. Go to school. Make good choices.”

Fizzy rolls her eyes, but walks away, the half piece of toast sticking out of her mouth, and her sock falling down to crinkle near her ankle. Louis watches as she yanks it back up to her knee, and anticipates that she’ll have to do that another 30 times today. 

With everyone out of the house, Louis sprawls out on his bed in his room. After staring at his phone for a few minutes, he decides to call Zayn. He knows his mum is right, of course. He’s being ridiculous. Zayn hasn’t done anything wrong, and their friendship had really grown after Harry came into their lives, and he doesn’t want to see that disappear.

“H’lo?” Zayn mumbles.

“Morning,” Louis chirps.

“It is morning, isn’t it?” Zayn says slowly, clearly waking up.

“Sorry to rouse you, love. Just wanted a chat.”

“No worries,” Zayn says. “Just sleeping off a bit of jetlag. Shouldn’t get too used to it, off again next week.”

“Do you ever dream about a day when we can be normal people with normal sleep schedules and not vampires and Energizer bunnies?”

“All the time,” Zayn agrees. “What’s going on, then?”

“Not much,” Louis agrees. “Just curious how the flat hunting is going.”

Zayn groans. “It’s quite alright. It’ll be good to not pay so much for rent, yeah? And Harry’s a great mate, so I’m looking forward to that. I just hate looking at places.”

“So you’re excited, then?” Louis asks, cradling his phone between his ear and shoulder while he picks at his fingernails.

“Oh yeah, why wouldn’t I be? It’ll be a regular shag pad,” Zayn laughs.

“Oh, Zayn, gross,” Louis exclaims.

Zayn laughs harder.

“Oi, you’ve changed your tune. You were always shagging about!”

“Yeah, just don’t want to think about your arse, mate,” Louis shoots back.

“Or,” Zayn continues, teasing, “is it that you don’t want to think about Harry shagging about?”

“Shut up,” Louis says, feeling his face burn up. Between his mum and Zayn, he thinks, who needs enemies?

“You know--” Zayn starts.

“No, I don’t know,” Louis interrupts. “I don’t want to know.”

“Tetchy, then. I was just going to say, the more you resist, Lou, the clearer things become.”

Louis scoffs.

“Okay, Confucius, what the fuck does that mean?”

Louis hears Zayn heave a very heavy sigh. It must be exhausting being friends with him.

“It means that you keep resisting, and it’s becoming well obvious. And it’s not healthy, because there’s literally no good fucking reason for you to be this stubborn.”

“Hey,” Louis says, furrowing his brow. “I told you, we work together.”

“Louis, we hardly ever fly with the same people. You’re reaching, here. Harry is the nicest bloke I’ve met in years, he’s not going to fuck you around like other people have.”

“You don’t know that,” Louis replies, because quite frankly, he’s tired of people talking to him like he’s an idiot.

“Of course I do. Besides, if it doesn’t work out, put him on your no-fly list and be done with it. The more you torture yourself over this imaginary cause, the more he becomes the forbidden fruit. I can just tell. You’re going to stop seeing him as Harry, and more as this pedestal hoisting ‘one who got away’ shit.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but tunes Zayn out from there.

“Alright, I see what you’re saying. I’m glad the flat hunting is going well,” Louis says.

“It’s not,” Zayn replies.

“Okay.”

“I’ll talk to you soon. Drinks next week or something,” Zayn says.

“Sounds great,” Louis agrees, but it sounds flat even to his own ears.

They hang up, and Louis sits up only to fling himself back down on his bed again, letting his head ‘whump’ satisfyingly.

Quite frankly, he’s annoyed at everyone. All of these people who he tries so hard to support and please keep nagging him about the one thing he doesn’t trust himself to do.

About five minutes in, he realizes Made in Chelsea is just not going to make him feel better. In fact, it makes him feel worse, watching these people who’re just a touch younger than him with their posh jobs. At least they had that to compensate for their rubbish romantic lives. 

Louis mutes the telly and stares at the ceiling.

\---

It’s not long after his phone call with Zayn that Louis gets a text message from Harry that they just signed a lease.

Harry sends him a couple pictures of the place. It’s in Ealing, as far as he can tell, but it’s still a step down from Zayn’s other place. With Harry’s budget, though, that’s pretty expected.

It’s nestled above a hair salon, and Louis can just picture Harry on his days off perched at the window listening to old London ladies complaining how their sons and daughters never phone. 

The bedrooms are small, the toilet even smaller, but the kitchen is alright and the living room seems fine.

When Harry calls him, and goes through all the things he likes about his new flat, Louis starts to feel the resentment unknot in his gut. He can hear Harry’s grin through the phone, and he would be an idiot to begrudge Harry anything that made him happy. 

“It’s got the market down the way, so I can pop down there whenever, and the laundrette a couple shops down, so I hopefully won’t smell all the time,” he says.

“Nice,” Louis agrees, and is glad to feel like it sounds genuine. “Make sure you trust them first before your dry clean your uniform. Disaster,” Louis says.

“Oh no,” Harry laughs. “That does sound like a problem.”

Louis takes a sip out of the waterglass by his bed. 

“So, what are you doing on the 2nd?” Harry asks.

“Of next month?” Louis taps open the calendar widgit on his phone. “Not working. Leave for New York the 3rd, but yeah, free on the 2nd. What’s happening?”

“Good, good,” Harry says, sounding vaguely evil. “Wear your trainers because you’re helping me move!”

Louis rolls his eyes fondly. 

“Of course,” he responds, making a note of it in his iCal.

“Excellent,” Harry agrees. “And when do you get back? I want to have a flatwarming party, but you have to be there.”

Louis bites back a smile. He _has_ to be there, apparently.

“Um, let me check,” Louis says, scrolling through his itineraries.

“Back and forth a bit, but I’ll be back in London the 8th for a few days. Don’t know how good of company I’d be that night, but I’m sure I’d be fine the 9th. I leave again the 13th. What about you?”

“Oh that sounds perfect,” Harry says, and Louis can hear the scratch of pencil against paper on the other end of the line. “I’ll text you the details, then. I’ll be heading out around then, too. Maybe we’ll get lucky and fly together again!”

“A girl can only dream, Styles,” Louis laughs. Despite his reservations, he does feel a little bit better knowing that Harry still cares. That even though a part of him is moving on and becoming an independent person, he still wants to know Louis’ opinion and Louis’ schedule. He called Louis right after signing a lease, and he specifically wanted Louis to help him move, and he made it clear that he was scheduling the party around Louis’ availability.

“I wish we could fly together more,” Harry admits. “We make a good team. Like, you always lighten the mood. Last week, I was with that knob Tom, and some other people, and it felt like the longest flight. When it’s you, it just feels more like fun than work, y’know? Same with that time I flew with Zayn, too,” he adds quickly.

“Yeah,” Louis agrees quietly. He wishes he were more eloquent, but he’s worried that if he opens his mouth he might admit too much. He might admit that he wants to break down and kiss Harry, to map out his hidden away tattoos with his mouth. More than that, he might admit that he wants to attempt cooking dinners for him, buy candles with the sole purpose of mood lighting. He might say that he wouldn’t even mind the pins and needles feeling in his arm if it were Harry he were cradling. So he keeps his mouth shut, letting the silence bubble over.

\---

On moving day, Louis drives Lottie’s car from Doncaster over to Holmes Chapel. Louis makes sure to clean out the car first, ditching Macca’s wrappers and a rogue Chemistry textbook, along with an assortment of things he never expected to see in a car. He keeps a few necessities in the boot, but folds the seats down and tries to make as much room for Harry’s shit as possible. 

When he pulls up in front of Harry’s-- well, Harry’s _mum’s_ house, now-- Harry is standing out in the garden looking up the road. Louis doesn’t miss the grin that pulls across Harry’s face as he spots him, and waves his car into the driveway.

“Happy moving day!” Louis greets as he steps out of the car.

“Hiiiii,” Harry says, giving Louis a quick hug. “Thanks for doing this. I really appreciate it.” Harry looks so sincere, Louis’ legs quiver, and he wonders if he’s going to make it out of this day unscathed.

“Anytime, mate,” Louis responds, smoothing his palms down his jogging shorts. Before he left, he contemplated whether or not he looked attractive enough, before he mentally slapped himself for being so vain. He’s moving shit, not going on a date, but Harry still looks good despite the circumstances.

He’s wearing those crazy neon trainers that Louis gave him such shit for when they were in Las Vegas and his skinny jeans rolled up so his dainty ankles are exposed. Louis feels nothing but fondness for Harry’s absurd sense of appropriate clothing.

“Tea first, then shit,” Harry says, dragging Louis into the house.

There’s already a mess of boxes with black marker labelled “winter clothes,” “summer clothes,” “coats,” “books,” “bric-a-brac,” and--

“Please tell me you don’t have a box specifically set aside for your fedoras and beanies, Harry,” Louis says, pointing at the box labelled “hats”.

“Shut it,” Harry laughs. “If you’re not nice, you won’t get tea.”

“Don’t want to rock the boat, then,” Louis says with a wink.

Louis sits on a stool in the kitchen while Harry plugs in the kettle and gets the mugs out.

“Be a dear, Harry, and pour me one, too.”

Louis swivels in his seat to see who he presumes is Harry’s mum standing in the doorway, putting in an earring.

“Sure, mum,” Harry responds. “Mum, this is Louis. Louis, my mum.”

“Anne,” she says, reaching her hand out for him to shake. She’s got the same warm smile as Harry, the same smirk sitting in her eyes. “I’ve heard loads about you, Louis.”

“All good, I hope,” Louis jokes, but inside he’s quite serious. He can’t help but feel like he needs to win over Anne’s love, or else there’s no point in continuing his friendship with Harry whatsoever. 

Harry splashes milk into the mug and gives it a quick stir before passing it over to Anne.

“Thanks, love,” she says, taking the mug from his carefully. She turns her attention back to Louis. “Louis, I can’t thank you enough for helping me to get this boy out of this house. It’s been too long, I swear.”

“Mum!” Harry exclaims, half-laughing.

Louis laughs, and takes the mug Harry’s offering him. It doesn’t escape Louis’ notice that Harry didn’t have to ask how he took his tea. Shit.

“Okay, boys. I’m going upstairs. Don’t break anything. Call when you get to London. You may be an adult, Harry, but you still need to call your mum. Louis, lovely to meet you,” she finishes, leaning in to give Louis a quick peck on the cheek.

She gives Harry a longer hug, giving him a couple pecks on the forehead. Louis looks away, worried that he’s looking into a scene he shouldn’t be. Harry looks a little embarrassed, Anne a little weepy, so she just collects her mug and goes back upstairs.

“Uh, sorry,” Harry mumbles, looking down at the countertop. “I didn’t think she’d be crying.”

“Her baby’s moving away,” Louis says. “Of course she’s crying. Granted, my mum cries when she sees me because she doesn’t want me there, so...”

“That’s so not true,” Harry laughs, reaching out to slap Louis upside the head.

“Oi!”

“Drink up, babe. Time to get moving! Zayn’ll probably have his shit all settled by the time we get there.”

By the time they finally get on the road, Louis is only slightly concerned about the impending drive. He does have about 4 centimeters of space in his back window to see out of, which is a nice surprise. He’s pulled his seat forward as far as he can, so he’s losing a bit of feeling in his leg, which is not a nice surprise.

Harry’s in his car, the Volkswagon, though there’s less space in that one. He looks like a giant surrounded by little things, and Louis can’t help but pull his iPhone out of his back pocket to snap a photo. 

By the time they finally reach West London, Louis feels like his bladder is about to burst. 

“Oh, hello, fuckers,” says Niall who’s sitting on the haphazardly placed sofa in the empty flat. 

“Sorry we’re late,” Harry says, as Louis peeks through doorways trying to find the loo. “Trying to narrowly avoid death on the M6.”

While Harry and Louis are dragging in all the boxes from the two cars, Niall, Liam, and Zayn are in the kitchen setting up appliances, having already moved Zayn’s shit from his old flat. Once all the boxes are squared away, a good majority of them in Harry’s bedroom, Harry claps loudly, getting Louis’ attention.

“Alright, nesting time!” Harry announces.

“Eh?” asks Louis, from the place he’s sprawled across the floor.

Harry runs downstairs-- Louis can hear how heavily he clomps down the stairs-- and then shortly returns, clutching two bottles of beer.

“Have this,” he says. “Then help me nest.”

“You’re a 24 year-old, H, not a bird or an expectant mother.”

“Well, consider me lactating, then,” Harry laughs. Louis bursts out a laugh before he can swallow it.

“Mental picture I didn’t need,” he laughs, blinking up to where Harry is standing over him, beer in hand, grinning. For a moment, Louis wasn’t sure if his sexual fantasies had come to life without his awareness.

But Harry’s hair is pulled back in a headband, the ends separating from sweat. His t-shirt has been exchanged for a ratty tank top, light tufts of chest hair poking through and random paint stains across the front. It’s not like any porn he’s watched, or any fantasy he’s ever let himself have, but somehow the reality of it makes it better. He realizes that Zayn’s right, of course, that he needs to see Harry as this imperfect, real person, who has armpit hair and whose deodorant wears off, and who has questionable, at best, taste in clothing.

Louis finds he likes this version better. This one brings him beer and smiles at him like he’s worth something.

Louis sits up to take a sip, and looks over to where Harry’s picking through a box.

“This is exciting,” Harry says to himself. He pulls out a shelf, letting it hang down by his side. “Where’s my tool kit?”

“I saw it... um... downstairs, I think,” Louis responds, running a hand through his hair.

Harry shoots him a grin, puts the shelf down, and goes to retrieve his toolbox.

“Where do you think the shelf should go?” Harry asks as he reenters the room.

Louis thinks about this, looking around the room. They agree that the bed should go on the far wall, and his bureau to the left. Harry also has a full-length mirror that needs to go somewhere, he remembers.

“There,” Louis says, pointing the the wall space between the door and the closet. It’s long enough the fit the plank.

“Perfect,” Harry agrees. “Now get up and hold this while I screw this in.”

Louis groans, but goes to help him, trying to keep it level while Harry powers up the electric screwdriver and sets the hinges in place.

“I think it’s steady,” Louis says cautiously, slowly backing away. The bass from the music downstairs beats through the house.

Harry beams.

“What’s going on this?” Louis asks before taking another swig of his sweating beer.

“My travel souvenirs, obviously,” Harry says, laughing, before pulling out his “bric-a-brac” box and pulling out trinkets.

Louis feels his throat dry up, and he takes another sip to stall his response. In Harry’s left hand is the mug, and in his right is the panda golf ball. In the box, he can see the various other tokens he’s picked up for Harry along the way.

Louis watches as Harry carefully places them on the shelf, his tongue just barely sticking out the corner as he carefully examines the place of each item.

Louis steps forward, and helps rearrange things, making it so that the Mickey Mouse ears are sitting in the back. He looks fondly at the slot machine figurine he bought in the Las Vegas airport when Harry wasn’t looking. He slides it closer to the front since it’s smaller. 

“Space for more stuff, I think,” Louis muses, turning to look at Harry.

Harry’s looking at him, of course, and Louis suddenly comes to the realization that they’re isolated from the other boys, alone, and standing fairly close together.

“Good,” Harry says quietly. “I don’t want to run out of space for stuff.” The words make it sound like a joke, but the earnest tone in Harry’s voice makes the very follicles on his head ache. It’s the good kind of ache, though, the kind that makes him brave. 

He’s starting to think maybe it wouldn’t be a disaster if he and Harry made a proper go of it.

They’re still looking at each other, Louis tilting his head slightly to the left, as if contemplating Harry’s motives. Harry’s intense glare softens a bit, his smile growing shy, as he shakes his hair out, and meets Louis’ eyes again. This time it’s out of the corner of his eyes, batting down at Louis, and it makes him look nervous. Louis starts to feel that familiar thrumming behind his breastbone.

“Lads, pizza is here!” Niall shouts, and it sounds like he’s right outside the door.

They both spring back, and Louis’ eyes are so trained on the floor, he doesn’t know what Harry looks like. Louis grabs his beer and takes a swig, procrastinating again. He and Harry follow Niall down the stairs. Even though he’s escaped the moment, Louis still feels that giddy nausea that he’s only felt before when he was too young to know better.

\---

The party comes a week later, and it finds more people they work with than he has seen in one place since training.

“So, who’s actually on the planes right now?” he mumbles to Zayn, who’s passing him another margarita.

“Lots of people,” Zayn muses. “I don’t know many of these guys. They on your route?”

Louis nods numbly, and looks over to where Harry and Niall are talking to Caroline and Michael. 

“I can’t believe Niall reworked his whole schedule for this party,” Louis muses, still watching them.

“I can,” Zayn laughs. “You know how serious he is about parties.”

“True,” he admits. Then after a moment of silence, he adds, “I’m, like, absurdly glad the last 8 months have happened.”

Zayn tries to hide a smile from behind his margarita glass. “Oh yeah? And why is that?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Shut up, I hate getting soppy.”

“But you’re about to.”

Louis forces a heavy sigh, though the effect is broken by his small smile. “It’s like, I’ve known you for, what, three years, and we’ve never been the see-each-other-on-the-regular type until this past one. I’ve lived in the same building as Niall for just as long, and yet never got to know him until recently. I barely even knew Liam until a couple months ago-- couldn’t have picked him out of a lineup. And now I can’t picture a world where I’m not spoiling his future children rotten.

“It’s like, ugh, it’s all Harry’s fault. It’s like he took us all and made us better. Fuck,” he finishes, before he guzzles more of the margarita down. He lets it burn at his throat, the ice and the alcohol, and he keeps drinking.

“Chill, mate,” Zayn says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, look, Liam’s here!”

Louis’ head swivels towards the doorway, where Liam is pushing his way through, rolling the sleeves of his cardigan up his forearms. He’s holding a small box in one hand. He waves at them with the other.

“Lads!” he greets, giving them a quick hug each. Louis feels the corner of the box dig into his back.

“When did you get in, mate?” Zayn asks. “Wasn’t sure you’d make it.”

“Couple hours ago,” Liam says. “Just enough time to get to the flat and change. Not sure how long I’ll be standing upright tonight, to be honest.”

“Haz is going to be so excited to see you,” Louis says. “He was all mopey earlier thinking you wouldn’t be here. Was trying to get Niall to do his impression and everything.”

“No way,” Liam laughs, eyes crinkling up.

“Liam!” Harry shouts from across the room. “Liam!” 

Louis can’t help but laugh as a sloshed Harry pastes himself on Liam’s back in an attempt to hug him.

“Okay, I see your point,” Liam says to Louis.

“I’m so glad you’re here! How was Australia? Say rubbish,” Harry says, peeling himself off Liam, but not letting him go far.

“Rubbish,” Liam says, completely stonefaced. “Terrible place. Never go.”

“Thought so,” Harry agrees, taking a sip from his own margarita glass. There are sloshes and drops all over the floor beneath them, and Harry’s hands look a little sticky, so Louis’ not even sure what Harry’s drink count is for the night so far.

“Brought you back something, though,” Liam says. “Housewarming present. It can go on that shelf in your room you keep all your things.”

Harry stands a bit straighter at that, and Louis can’t help the way his eyes zero in on that box. The room gets hotter, then, and Louis puts his glass to his forehead in an effort to cool himself down.

“Oh, wow. Um, thanks, Liam,” Harry says, sounding a bit more composed than he had when he was basically using Liam like a climbing tree. “That’s really kind of you.”

Harry briefly looks up at Louis before he starts to peel away at the wrapping paper, but Louis firmly keeps his gaze set on the box. If he doesn’t look anywhere else, then maybe no one will realize how he’s freaking out inside. 

Harry pulls away at the ribbon and digs in and rids the paper easily, discarding it down on the floor. Zayn rolls his eyes, but bends down to pick it up, crumpling it into a tight ball. Harry takes the lid off the box, and they all peer in, looking at the souvenir boomerang Liam brought back from fucking Sydney.

Louis looks away quickly, while Zayn oohs and ahhs over the coloring and the engraving. 

Louis accidentally catches Harry’s eye, and for the first time since they met, he can’t read Harry’s emotions and messages through his expression.

“That’s fantastic, Li,” Louis hears himself say, though he doesn’t sound like his normal exuberant self.

“Thanks again, Liam,” Harry says, leaning over to give Liam a quick hug. “I appreciate it, mate.”

“And where’s my prezzie, then?” Zayn says.

“Oh, did you want something too, then?” Liam teases.

“Uh, yeah, it’s my housewarming, too,” Zayn responds, reaching out to twist Liam’s nipple.

“Brought you back tea and Tim Tams, you arse, but I don’t think you deserve it.”

Zayn and Liam walk away, bickering, leaving Harry and Louis there with Liam’s present.

“Never got something from down under, then,” Louis quips.

“Yeah, it’s wicked,” Harry agrees, but his smile isn’t quite reaching. “I’m gonna go put it upstairs so I don’t end up trying to, like, use it or something after another drink or so,” Harry says, gesturing to the staircase.

“Probably for the best,” Louis agrees, stepping back towards where Niall is still chattering away.

Louis loves Liam, he does. He wasn’t lying to Zayn when he said he was going to spoil Liam’s future babies rotten. He would do anything for him, really. But right now, in this moment, Louis wouldn’t be sad to see Liam spill a drink on himself.

It’s not that Louis expects the shelf to be his and Harry’s thing, it’s just that... he kind of did expect it to be just a thing between the two of them. The fact that not only is Liam getting involved, but that he’s doing it better than Louis, that just doesn’t sit well with him. He pulls at his hair with his free hand, while giving Niall and overall ‘help’ glare.

“A’right, Lou? You look a little constipated,” Niall comments.

Louis hangs his head.

“No, fuck off. I’ve been challenged.”

“Eh?” Niall asks, looking confused. The girls he was chatting with have snuck away without them noticing. “Who’s challenging who to what now?”

Louis looks around conspicuously before taking a sip from his drink. He’s going to need a refill soon.

“Liam is challenging me for the heart of one Harry Styles,” Louis whispers.

Niall throws his head back and laughs long and hard.

“Stop laughing,” Louis says, frowning.

Niall doesn’t.

He’s still clutching his stomach, laughing a minute later when Zayn rejoins them. He takes one look at Louis’ displeased face, and sighs.

“Do we need to have another talk?” Zayn asks.

“No,” Louis says stubbornly.

“Yes,” Niall says, through fits of laughter. “He thinks-- Liam--”

“Oh, _Jesus_ , Lou, really?” 

“What?” Louis asks, arms outstretched.

“Liam is one of your best friends,” Zayn says.

“I know,” Louis agrees.

“He’s straight,” Niall says.

“We’ve met his girlfriend,” Zayn adds.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Doesn’t mean he--”

“Stop right there, Louis,” Zayn interrupts, placing a hand over Louis’ mouth. “You need to get this jealousy thing under control. Harry is friends with all of us. But you know who he’s crazy about? You. But you know who refuses to do anything about his own feelings? Think carefully, but you only get one guess on this one, because the answer is you. Yes, Liam bought him a present. Liam also bought me a present, and we are not in love.”

“Debatable,” Niall adds.

Zayn laughs, but then gets serious again.

“He gave Harry something physical, a token of friendship. But you know what the best gift you could give Harry is? Something that the rest of us couldn’t? Time. Time _together_ is the most precious gift you can give someone because it’s a portion of your life that you will never get back. So if you want to show him you care about him, stop getting him fucking tea towels.”

“Give him your heart,” Niall finishes cheekily, clutching his own empty margarita class to his chest.

Louis tries to speak, but Zayn still has his hand clamped over Louis’ mouth. Louis sticks his tongue out, and licks a strip clean across Zayn’s palm, laughing as Zayn jumps back in disgust.

“Ugh,” Zayn says as he wipes his hand on the leg of his trousers.

“The truth comes out,” Louis laughs. “You all pretend like you’re swinging bachelors who can’t stop shagging birds, but you’re hopeless romantics! I’m on to you,” he says, wagging a finger at Zayn and Niall.

“No, mate, we just want you to shut up,” Niall says, just as the two girls he was chatting with earlier return. 

“Point taken,” Louis says, though he’s smiling. “Hello, ladies. I’m going to go home, then,” he says, pointing at the door.

“And where’s home?” asks one of the girls. Louis’ not even sure what her name is, though he’s sure she works for the airline. She looks the part, at least.

“Excellent question,” Louis laughs. “I’m off to the pad. Chat in a couple of days,” he says, leaning in to give them quick hugs. “Tell Haz I said ‘bye’.”

\---

A week later finds Louis sitting on the floor playing Scrabble with Phoebe. She’s supposed to be revising for a maths test, but she insists that counting the points is close enough, so Louis humors her.

To be fair, he’s rubbish at Scrabble, and his sister is quite good. So while they’re not about to win at any competitions, she handily beats him while he stares at his ‘Z’ tile wondering what to do.

Jay comes in soon after Louis throws in the towel, looking askance at the game board strewn about the floor.

“Phoebe,” she says slowly.

Phoebe blinks up at her, trying to use her big eyes to get out of trouble before she even knows what she’s in trouble for.

“Yes, mum,” she says.

“Honestly,” Jay replies. “Clean this up, put on something that couldn’t double as pyjamas, and revise,” she finishes exasperatedly.

“Like I said,” Louis jumps in, “go revise.”

“I hate you,” Phoebe mutters to Louis, narrowing in and giving him the evil eye. 13 year olds were painfully good at that.

“And Louis,” Jay starts, hanging up her bag on the railing, “I think it’s time for a chat.”

Louis drops his head into his hands.

“No,” he moans. “No more chats. Between you and Zayn, I’m emotionally drained,” he whinges as he drags himself up and into the kitchen.

He sits down at the kitchen table, because all important family discussions happen to take place in their kitchen. ‘It’s a neutral place’, he remembers his mum saying.

“Water, tea, or whiskey?” Jay asks. “Say whiskey so I don’t feel bad about having a glass, too.”

“Whiskey it is, then,” Louis chirps, though water had been on the tip of his tongue. 

He watches his mum drop a few ice cubes into a tumbler and slide it over to him, bartender style. Louis waits until she sits down across from him before he reaches over and clinks their glasses, going through the motions and taking a small sip. He fucking hates whiskey. 

“So this must be serious,” he says slowly. His mind flashes with a list of things that could be wrong. His mum could be sick, his nan could have died, his birthfather could be trying to reenter their lives, the list goes on, playing like a reel of bad made for television movies in his mind.

“Well, dear, we can do this the easy way or the hard way,” his mum says enigmatically.

“I have zero idea of what you’re on about,” Louis says, dragging a finger around the rim of the glass.

“Okay,” his mom starts. “To be blunt: I think you need to move out.”

Louis’ jaw drops open.

“What?”

“You’re 26, darling, and--”

“What?”

“--holding you back--”

Louis clutches his ears for a moment, trying to gain a sense of stability. His mum senses his freakout and stops.

Taking a breath, Louis looks up at his mother.

“Okay, um. I hear you,” Louis says, trying to remember every piece of mediation training he’s received over the last few years. “Tell me more.”

His mum gives him a strange look.

“Okay,” she says slowly. “I think it’s time that you find a new place to live, sweetie. It’s not that I don’t love having you here, I just want more for you.”

Louis shakes his head. 

“But I can’t leave you and the girls,” he protests. “You need my help.”

Jay puts her hand out and rests it on Louis’ forearm.

“Louis, I have felt guilty every day since you finished uni for making you think you needed to stay here. I should have foisted you on the world immediately. Instead, I acted selfishly, keeping you close. I felt like I needed the help, and having you here made things easier,” she concedes.

“Okay,” Louis says. “Is Lottie behind this?”

Jay laughs, a bit watery, though Louis doesn’t want to draw attention to it. He thinks that there’s nothing worse than seeing a mum crying. He feels so helpless when it happens, but he think he’d doing anything to prevent it.

“The girls are teenagers, Louis. God knows when it happened, but it did. They don’t need you here to babysit them or cook for them, or any of that.”

“But, money,” Louis tries weakly. 

“Lottie and I have talked this over and come to an agreement. She boosts her hours at the shop, she gets your room, but she has to pay rent.”

“So, just to make sure I’m up-to-date, you planned my move-out without me?” Louis asks, before knocking back a sip of whiskey, biting back the gag reflex as he swallows.

“To be fair, dear, it’s not a move-out so much as a kick-out,” Jay responds.

Louis slumps down onto the kitchen table.

“I’m sorry for the tough love, bug. But I’ve been taking advantage of your kindness and generosity for too long. You need to go out and live your life while you’re young. I’m not saying you have to move to London, stay in Doncaster for all I care, but you have to move out. Live life for yourself, not for me or for the girls. We will support you no matter what.”

Louis mumbles into the tabletop, not even sure where to start. He needs to find a flat, first and foremost. He’s going to have to start doing his own groceries and taking long trips on days off to the laundrette. He’s going to have to learn to cook something other than cheese on toast and eggs.

Maybe it _is_ time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so, so much for anyone who has read this. I should make an apology to any flight attendants who read this, for I have simplified their jobs. 
> 
> Your feedback is welcome. :D
> 
> As always, no harm is meant, and this is extremely fictional. Lots of thanks to Liz for the britpicking and the confidence boosting.

Louis isn’t positive, but he thinks Harry might be a little bit angry about Louis ditching his housewarming party earlier than planned. Their communication had been a little stilted, Harry’s enthusiasm slightly more muted than before, and Louis’ responses shortened for fear that everything was written on his face or pouring out of his words.

Louis’ fear of Harry slipping away resurfaces, so he makes sure to text Harry when he’s in town, _‘lunch tomorrow?’_

Lunch doesn’t solve things, though, and they spend most of it in silence, lost in their own thoughts. While Louis has no idea what’s going on in Harry’s brain, his own is mostly a whirl of Harry, finding a place to live, and Harry, again.

Louis instinctively picks the kalamata olives off his salad and drops them unceremoniously onto Harry’s plate. This gets a smile, at least, a genuine one, which settles something rioting within Louis.

Louis asks about the flat, and Harry murmurs that it’s great, and Zayn’s been back on his Delhi route, so they haven’t been crossing paths a whole lot since moving in. 

Louis thinks about telling Harry about searching for a new place, how his mum is forcing him to think about himself for a bit, and how he has no idea what to do. Harry’s subtly frowning at his plate, now, so Louis keeps it swallowed.

They wrap up lunch quickly, not drawing out their time together and taking too long to put their credit cards down on the bill like normal. They part with a hug, but Harry pulls away, and Louis feels his hand slide down Harry’s arm until it falls by his side. 

“Later, Lou,” Harry says, before turning and walking back in the direction of his flat. Louis stands and watches him go, feeling the familiar itch just under his skin. He hates thinking that Harry’s mad at him. 

As he turns into the tube station, he wonders if Niall’s in town. He worries if he calls Zayn, he’ll get another lecture, and he knows for a fact that Liam is going on an honest-to-god holiday with his girlfriend for the week. He manages to send the text right before he loses service, and as he goes further beneath the city, he gets an idea.

He’s sitting at the pub, next to the open window, letting the warmer air waft in. He has his beer in front of him, but he is trying to take it slow, being the early afternoon and whatnot. 

He’s staring down at his coaster when Niall walks in.

“Cheers, Lou,” Niall says, sliding into the chair across from him, pint in hand. “You alright?”

Louis nods.

“Just had lunch with Haz,” he says.

“Where the fuck is he, then?” Niall laughs, looking around.

“Back at his flat, I think,” Louis responds. “I have a bigger topic at hand.”

“This isn’t about how gone over him you are, right? I’m kind of tired of that topic. I’d need another drink if so.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “I’m not nearly that bad.”

“You alone, no. Harry alone, no. But being friends with the both of you, the worst.”

“Okay, okay. But, Niall, seriously, I have a proposal.”

Niall looks up at the tone of seriousness in Louis’ voice.

“Move into a flat with me.”

Niall takes approximately half a second to think it over.

“Okay,” he says, before taking a sip.

“I’m being serious,” Louis says. “I’m looking for a commitment from you. Think it over, if you need to.”

“Nope, sounds great,” Niall says, smiling.

“Oh, okay.” Louis grins, pleased. He certainly thought that was going to take more effort. “Are you sure you don’t want to hear my passionate speech about how London needs you?”

“If you want to,” Niall shrugs.

“Niall,” Louis says, holding his glass up. “Ireland has been blessed with your presence for over twenty years.”

“Too right,” Niall agrees.

“England has only a glimmer of all that you can offer. Who would convince Liam that he can definitely afford the calories that are in that pizza? Who else would listen as Zayn tries to expand our vocabulary, but then tell him to stuff it ‘cause he’s too smart for us? Or laugh at Harry’s terrible puns, because even I can’t do that. Think of how your sleep will improve! Think of how your pulling game will improve since you’ll have a reliable home base! In conclusion, getting a flat with me will improve your sex life and your overall health and happiness. Mostly because I’ll be there,” he finishes.

Niall nods approvingly. 

“Not bad. I’m still in, of course.” He takes another sip, smiling.

Louis waits two days before he texts Harry to tell him about the news.

Harry is, of course, ecstatic, and any traces of the tension that was there a few days prior vanishes. At least over text, as far as Louis can tell.

 _‘amazing!!!! where? come be my neighbor!!!! .x_ ’

Louis lets out a breath and smiles. Things will be okay.

\---

“Meant to ask earlier-- find anything yet?” Harry says, a few weeks later, right after takeoff. They haven’t even stabilized yet, and Louis is staring out the window from his jumpseat, watching as the ground gets smaller and smaller, the people reducing to just tiny specks among the gray and dusty green.

Louis turns to him and shakes his head. He’s been looking, of course, because now that he’s made the decision to move (or had the decision made for him, rather), he’s eager to start the next chapter of his life. 

His mum made him realize he was ignoring a lot of parts of his own life, pouring himself into the family and his job. Too young to be giving away his independence for family, too old to be living at home, as Liam had put it. It was very succinct, and Louis suspects that he’s been listening to Zayn too much.

“No, but I’m not worried. Niall’s good for whatever, just wants to see a photo of the place before he signs anything.”

“World’s most easy-going flatmate,” Harry laughs, moving to unbuckle his seatbelt.

“Rebel, rebel,” Louis teases. 

“Is my face a mess?” Harry responds before giving an exaggerated wink. Louis laughs, and accidentally catches the eye of a passenger who turned at the sound.

Once stabilized, Rita signals them to start getting ready to go around with the drink trolleys, and it’s a little bit easier to focus on work when Harry isn’t standing next to him with his well-pressed trousers and shiny shoes. 

Louis pops the tab on another Diet Coke, and waits for the fizz to die down, before he decides he doesn’t have enough patience, and he hands the whole can over. It’s a small can, he tells himself. The airline can handle it.

Harry comes up behind him and puts his hands on Louis’ waist. Louis stills, shocked.

“Do you have any spare lemonade that I can nick off you?” Louis nods, sparing a quick glance at Harry behind him. He pulls open the drawer and grabs two cans with each hand, foisting them on Harry without making eye contact. 

“Cheers,” Harry says, ambling back to his trolley further down the cabin, stopping on the way to give one of the cans to a passenger. Louis shakes himself, forces himself to focus on his job. He’s a professional, dammit.

He takes a step back with the trolley, ignoring the knowing glance and smirk that Katie’s sending him.

He looks to the woman at the window seat. She’s got large earrings and braids that go down to her waist. “Something to drink, miss? Takeoff cocktail? Beer, wine or soda?”

“Cocktail,” she says, “with vodka, please.”

“Surely,” he says, pouring the cocktail mix into the purple cup, handing it off to her with a vodka nip and a napkin. He gives her another smile-- he likes it when people say please.

“And yourself?”

It’s just waters for the other two in the row, but his half of the middle group all elect for the cocktails, with vodka, naturally. Louis wishes he could sneak a cocktail in himself. 

When he finishes and gets everything back in the galley, he sees Harry laughing with some young women, who seem to be all starry-eyed around him. Louis smiles to himself-- he understands Harry’s natural magnetic personality. He’s been told he has it, too. It’s part of the reason they can do this job without going bonkers. 

Harry looks up and catches Louis watching him. Louis would normally be embarrassed, but Harry gives him a quick wink and goes back to explaining something to the girls, using his hands as if to explain some kind of process. Louis can’t tell from the back of the plane. 

An older woman walks up behind Harry and taps him on the shoulder, causing him to turn quickly to give his attention. She says something to him, clearly in a hushed tone, her eyebrows drawn tight, causing wrinkles to blossom across her forehead.

Harry’s smiling face drops, and he quickly looks over at Louis. The same worried expression that was on the woman’s face is now on Harry’s, and Louis feels the urge to go over and help. Harry turns and follows the woman back to her seat, Harry sitting down and the woman staying in the aisle. More people are looking now, peering over the seats in front of them to see the fuss. Cher’s looking pale, but she’s standing a little more removed from whatever’s happening, a few rows up.

Harry looks up at Louis, wide eyed. He makes a phone gesture with his hand, holding it up to his ear. He then makes a little cross with his fingers. Louis thinks this is a terrible time to play charades. 

“Doctor?” he mouths. Harry nods frantically.

Louis walks, not runs, over to the intercom. He’s had this speech memorized since he was in training, but he’s never had to be the one to actually make the announcement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, due to a medical situation, we are turning the seatbelt light back on. Please remain in your seats at this time. If anyone on board is a trained medical professional, please notify a cabin crew member.”

Louis turns the intercom off and the seatbelt light on. He waits a moment, and he feels his stomach drop, thinking that there isn’t a doctor or nurse on board. Then he sees a light go on, and he shuffles over. There’s a woman in her late 30s, and although she’s dressed like she’s heading for a nice holiday in Miami, she says she’s an Emergency Room doctor, and so Louis points her in the direction of her new patient. It’s not hard to find, of course. It’s where everyone’s staring.

Louis snags the first aid kit and walks briskly down to Harry. Harry’s at the window seat, holding the man’s hand and looking generally shaken. The doctor-- Dr. Nguyen, Louis hears her tell the man-- is sitting in the aisle seat. 

She’s asking the man questions, though his response time is certainly lagging. He’s pasty, nodding slowly, breathing labored. He clutches his own arm and even Louis knows that there’s a good chance he’s having a heart attack.

“I had a heart attack a little over two months ago,” the man wheezes. She nods.

She grabs the stethoscope from the medical kit, and starts listening, nodding to herself, her brows furrowing.

The man groans and curls in on himself further. Louis looks down to see him squeezing Harry’s hand pretty hard, with Harry’s fingertips going purple. 

Behind him, Louis hears someone sniffling. It’s one of the girls Harry was laughing with earlier. She looks terrified, suddenly much younger than she had when she was mooning over Harry. Louis goes next to her to console her, and looks up to see Cher and Katie doing the same with the woman who had originally alerted Harry to the situation.

“Aspirin,” the doctor says, and Harry rifles through the medical bag until he finds the bottle. Someone from across the aisle passes over their half-drunk bottle of water, but the man isn’t in any position to complain about germs, and willingly accepts the pills and water that Harry puts in his mouth.

“Just breathe,” Harry says soothingly. Louis emulates him with the young lady he’s with (Sarah, he learns). 

“What should I tell the pilots?” Harry asks the doctor, extracting himself and stepping into the aisle. This is another case where his long legs come in handy.

“He’s having another heart attack,” she whispers to Harry. “Does this plane have a defibrillator?”

Harry nods. “I’ll go grab it.”

He brushes past the others and Louis watches him disappear behind the first class curtain. 

A minute later, he comes back, with Cal, the co-pilot in tow. Harry beckons Dr. Nguyen forward, and the three of them stand in a tight group near the curtain. Louis can’t hear, but he can guess what they’re talking about.

_How serious is it? Will he die? Do we need to redirect the flight and land early or will he make it to Miami?_

Louis looks out the window, to the endless blue. Blue sky, blue ocean. Hardly any clouds to even speak of. 

They’re just under half the distance to Miami, he’s sure of it. 

Cal does _not_ look happy, and Dr. Nguyen is waving her hands about. Harry looks nauseous, but attentive. 

Cal turns and heads back behind the curtain, while Dr. Nguyen goes back to the patient. Harry brushes by Louis on his way back to the galley, and Louis moves to follow.

Harry’s wetting a flannel when he finally looks at Louis.

“I’m kind of terrified right now. I’m shaking.”

“I can see that,” Louis says, putting his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You’re amazing.”

“We’re probably getting rerouted right about now,” Harry says, looking up the cabin.

Louis nods. He can’t say he’s surprised. There’s literally nothing around them and there’s a little over six hours of the flight left.

Harry turns and goes back to the man, placing the cloth on his forehead. The man’s color still doesn’t good, and Louis thinks it’s even quieter in the cabin than it was before. 

Louis feels restless and unhelpful, so he decides to start giving drinks to passengers on the plane. He pours a few more cocktails, but for the most part, people either want water or politely decline.

Overhead, he hears the intercom go on. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your pilot and co-pilot speaking. Unfortunately, we will be rerouting this flight. The closest place for us to land is Portugal, so momentarily we will be turning the plane around. We sincerely apologize for the inconvenience and we appreciate your patience and understanding of the situation.”

Louis closes his eyes, and contemplates a life in which this was not his job. He envisions himself in a job in which his supervisors gave him a five-minute advanced notice that he’d end his day in a different country. He inhales, and exhales, and when he opens his eyes, he sees several call lights go on. He watches Rita move to answer some, as well as Cher and Katie. 

“I’ll take that cocktail now,” says the first passenger he checks in with.

 _You and me both,_ he thinks to himself. 

Louis feels the plane turn, and he hears the jet engines kick on double-time.

He and the girls huddle up near the galley, letting Harry focus in on helping Dr. Nguyen.

“I’m thinking we should just throw food at them,” Cher says. “If they keep eating, they won’t complain.”

“If they complain that a man won’t die, they’re the worst scum I’ve ever met,” Rita says thickly.

Louis nods.

“Everyone’s been fine, so far. They’re livid, I’m sure, but I think everyone has enough tact to hold in their bitching while a man’s on the brink of massive cardiac arrest,” Louis argues. “Let’s just go around with snacks and drinks.”

Louis thinks he’s never handed out so many shortbread biscuits and pretzels before in his life, but this is the time. He makes sure to hand extra to Harry and Dr. Nguyen. Not that their priority is food at the moment, but he wants to feel like he’s helping. 

By the time the pilot comes on to tell them they’ll be landing in Lisbon shortly, Louis’ hands are shaking. He feels better about the fact that the man isn’t going into massive cardiac arrest, leaving the defibrillator unused and all of the passengers emotionally unscarred. 

Louis knows that his years of training were for situations like this one, but he can’t help but feel his mind reeling from this.

He’s so lucky, though, that no one revolted or called him all the curse words in the book for this. He meant what he said to the others-- he thinks people have more tact when they realize a human life is at risk.

Louis sees Cal poke his head through the curtains again, and he beckons Louis closer.

“Yes?” 

Cal looks somber.

“You’re going to hate me.”

“Oh, no,” Louis says, cradling his forehead into his hands.

“We’re going to land in about fifteen,” Cal says. Louis nods. “Obviously first priority is to get the passenger off the plane. The paramedics are on their way to the runway as we speak.”

“Gotcha,” Louis says, nodding along.

“Here are our problems,” Cal says. “First, there’s no available gate for us, so we will need to unload nearby a gate. The medics will use a lift to get the passenger onto a gurney and down onto the ground. Then, following the gentleman, his guest, and the paramedics, everyone will need to unboard the plane. The plane needs to refuel and then we run into staffing issues.”

“Oh my god,” Louis moans.

“We’re going to officially go overtime. I just called headquarters, but no one’s available and certainly not in a country we don’t even fly to. So we’re getting laid over for about ten hours,” he finishes.

“Oh, bugger.” It’s the tamest he can keep himself considering the circumstances.

“Agreed,” Cal says. “So, I’m going to leave you to tell the other attendants. Also, the passengers hate me enough and probably think you’re lovely, so I’m going to let you make the announcement. Cheers,” he adds, before spinning on his heel and making his way back to the cockpit.

Louis likes Cal. He’s nice, he’s responsible. He and Paul work well together under crisis, obviously.

Right now, Louis is not Cal’s biggest fan.

He makes significant eyes at the others, and the girls make their way to Louis to hear his update. Even Harry shuffles up to them again.

When Louis tells them what Cal reported, all of their eyes go wide. Cher looks like she’s ready to tug her hair out. 

“They are going to go mad,” Rita says.

Louis nods.

“There’s just no easy way to go about this,” Louis says. 

They move back to their previous locations, and Harry gives Louis a quick thumbs up before Louis takes the intercom. He really hates doing announcements, and he suspects this one will be one of his worst.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have several announcements to make. First, thank you again for your patience and understanding. We will be landing in Lisbon momentarily, so I’d ask that you please continue to remain seated and belted during this time.” He takes a deep breath. “Due to flight regulations and a severe lack of Virgin employees in Lisbon, we will be unable to fly out for our original destination of Miami for ten hours.” Louis hears shouts all around from the passengers, obviously upset with his update. “We called ahead and every group will be receiving a voucher from Virgin. We know this is unfortunate and may complicate several of your plans. We sincerely appreciate your patience. The cabin crew is here to make the last few minutes of today’s flight, as well as our later flight to Florida, as comfortable as possible. Thank you again. Please stow your tray tables, return your seats to the upright position, and remain seated while we land.”

Once they’re on the ground, Louis makes sure to give Dr. Nguyen a bottle of champagne from First Class before she gets off the plane. 

“Drink it all right now,” he whispers to her. 

“Oh, I will,” she responds. “You know, it’s a lot easier to handle that stuff when you’re in an ER with all kinds of equipment.” 

The paramedics stand on the ground waiting for them, taking the patient immediately, commenting before they leave that they think he’ll be fine.

“I have never felt so powerful in my life,” she muses, looking back at Louis. “I’m sorry for the hassle, but I stand by that he wouldn’t have lasted the rest of the flight.”

“You’re the doctor,” Louis says. “I don’t mind having a night in Lisbon. It’s Finances that will have to deal with it. Thanks so much,” he adds, for what feels like the hundredth time.

“You’re welcome,” she says. “Harry did such a good job. If he weren’t such a great flight attendant, I’d suggest he become a nurse. He’s so good at taking directions, so considerate, responsible.”

“He’s a leader,” Louis agrees. “Glad to call him my best mate.”

Dr. Nguyen smiles and waves, stepping down the stairs carefully onto the tarmac.

Now knowing that the man’ll be okay, he can chuckle while he watches all the passengers’ confused faces as they step out onto the tarmac and realize they’re not in an aerobridge like normal.

With the last passenger off the plane, Cher leaves to go talk to someone in the building who can give firm plans for them to refuel and leave later.

They still have to do a quick sweep of the plane, and then they can head to the hotel to get a couple hours of sleep in. Louis feels simultaneously drained and full of adrenaline, and he wasn’t previously sure that could happen.

Harry’s sitting in a seat off to the right, hunched over with his head down. Louis can’t make sense of his face, his hair tumbling forward out of it’s sprayed ‘do, and the heels of his hand pressing into his eyes. 

Louis and Rita clean up around him, picking up some of the napkins and cups left behind. Louis only half pays attention, though, peeking over to see Harry still slumped over every other minute or so.

After thinking Harry’s had enough time to himself, Louis walks over and plants himself next to him. 

Harry looks up with Louis’ arrival. He’s not crying, as Louis thought he might’ve been, but his eyes look impossibly big and bright, like he’s not far off. 

“Harry,” Louis starts, but he feels his throat close up a little. He feels so much, wants to take Harry in his arms and protect him from ever being upset, but as the last few hours have shown him, Harry doesn’t need his protection.

“Hey Lou,” Harry responds quietly.

Louis doesn’t know what to say, so he just slides his arm around Harry and lets Harry sink down into him a little bit. 

They’re quiet for a moment, and Louis feels all sorts of things rippling under the surface of his skin. He thinks about Harry, and Harry’s character, and what they have. It’s different than what either of them have with the other lads, he knows this. At least in theory. But he wants it to be obvious, to everyone. He wants everyone to know that what the two of them share is deeper and more fantastic than what they have with their other friends. He wants to lay claim on Harry, have Harry do the same to him, even. He wants to make a big deal when Harry does something like save someone’s fucking life.

Harry reaches up and pulls at the hand that Louis has covering Harry’s shoulder. It’s soft, more of a caress really. If Louis can have this, all the time, he realizes, it doesn’t make much sense to deny himself this. If he can have this, he’s all set.

Louis clears his throat again. “You’re basically the most amazing person I know,” he says quietly. He doesn’t want to look around, but he knows there are still others on the plane.

Harry smiles down at the ground.

“Promise you’re not just saying that because I almost watched someone die today?”

Louis shakes his head. 

“Should’ve told you sooner. Besides, it’s not that you almost watched someone die, it’s that you totally kicked arse and saved him. The rest of us were just there looking like, like fish or something. You’re the hero, Haz.”

Harry shakes his head a little, like he can’t really believe the words Louis says.

“I really want to kiss you,” Harry murmurs. He peels his eyes up from the ground to gauge Louis’ reaction. 

“Funny,” Louis says dryly. “I also want that.”

Harry’s serious face shifts into a small, teasing smile. “‘I also want that’. What?” he mimics. 

“Oi,” Louis says, laughing. “Fuck off.”

“No, but I’m the most amazing person you know,” Harry responds, batting his eyes.

“Lord help me,” Louis rolls his eyes, but feels the fondness rise up through his sternum.

Before Louis can pull himself away, Harry grabs onto his hand again, squeezing. 

“No, but really,” Harry says, face getting serious again. It’s that intense look he gets sometimes, but there’s still the playfulness in his smile. “As soon as we get off this airplane, I’m going to want to kiss you. Prepare yourself for that.”

“Already been there, mate,” Louis teases, ignoring the way his heart speeds up. “But that better be a promise.”

“It is,” Harry nods. 

“Cool,” Louis says, smiling. He pulls himself away from Harry before all of his resolve crumbles. He’s seconds away from launching himself at Harry, coworkers and general employment be damned. 

“You’d think we could stay in something other than a Holiday Inn Express,” Cher says, from where she’s re-entering the cabin. “But no.”

“Just amazed there’s something that can fit people,” Rita shouts from the back of the cabin. 

“I think almost everyone is just electing to stay in the terminal, but I don’t know. Don’t give a fuck right now, to be perfectly honest with you,” she finishes, before turning to Harry.

“Harry,” Cher says, leaning over to ruffle Harry’s deflated hair. “How’re you feeling?”

Harry shrugs. “Tired.”

“Let me buy you a pint or seven,” she says. “Man of the fucking hour.”

“No,” Harry laughs, and Louis definitely misses the way Harry’s eyes flick over to him. “Knackered, really. Maybe after tomorrow’s flight? Once we finally get to Miami.”

“Holding you to that!” Katie shouts from the other aisle, winking at Cher.

“Alright,” Louis laughs. “Are we just about done here? Knackered meself.”

Louis moves to pass Harry’s carryon bags to him, letting their fingers slide against each other with the exchange. Louis can’t help the crooked smile that quickly passes over his face.

Louis moves quickly to get off the plane, almost tripping and breaking his own head as he makes it down the stairs and onto the tarmac. 

“Reminds me of training,” he hears Harry say behind him.

The walk across the tarmac and to the stairs taking them up to the aerobridge is torturous. Louis glances over at Harry every other second or so, and he can hear the girls behind them struggling to keep up with them.

“Boys, slow the fuck down,” Katie calls out.

Louis and Harry exchange looks and then burst out laughing, Harry double-timing it to the staircase.

“Are they going to fuck?” Louis faintly hears Rita ask. It’s everything he doesn’t want, of course, people speculating and gossiping about him. Not since before. 

Right now, though, Louis doesn’t care. 

Well, that’s not true. He does care a little, if he’s being honest, but if he’s going to be rumored to sleep with Harry, he should at least reap the benefits first.

They’re out through the terminal, waving hello to the airline crew who graciously let them crash their area. They walk straight past the passengers already claiming rows of uncomfortable chairs and spaces of floor to camp out on for the next few hours. Louis feels the death glares many of them are sending he and Harry as they book it across the waiting area. It’s like they know the cabin crew are heading to a hotel, with beds.

_With beds._

“Do you know any Portuguese?” Louis asks, as they get to the taxi stand.

“Shuttle bus,” Harry says, pointing.

“Thank fuck,” Louis mutters under his breath, grabbing Harry’s elbow and leading him toward the bus, their luggage knocking noisily behind them. 

Harry laughs behind him, and it sounds lighter than any noise he’s heard from Harry in months. It makes Louis preen, if he’s being honest with himself. Even on the most anxiety-ridden days, he can still make Harry laugh.

Sitting on the shuttle bus proves to be another matter altogether.

They’ve just pulled away from the curb when Louis sees the girls make their way out the double doors. The driver shouts out at them to wait for the next one. Louis can see Harry avoiding eye contact with them, choosing instead to look down at his nails. 

Louis feels like he’s overheating in his uniform, partly due to the weather, and partly due to the fact that his body is thrumming in anticipation sitting next to Harry. He can’t stop fidgeting, shaking his leg, or messing with his tie. He notices Harry is suspiciously still next to him. 

He chances another look at Harry, and notices Harry smirking. They make eye contact. Harry’s smirk turns less dirty, more sweet, for the moment.

“You know,” Harry says, tilting his head to get a better look at Louis. “I’m glad you’ve decided to stop torturing yourself.”

“No idea what you mean,” Louis says, feigning ignorance. 

It’s a fast drive from the airport to the hotel, theoretically, but Louis can’t make the bus go any faster. The other people on the shuttle bus, an older German couple and a younger group of Scottish women, don’t seem to be as bothered by this, chatting away happily and looking out the window.

Louis hasn’t been to Lisbon before, actually, but for the life of him, he just doesn’t really care what is happening outside of the bus.

Once they fumble their way through check-in, they get the key card for their room. They’re splitting, of course, not even bothering to check to see if anyone else wanted to team up. It’s a slow ride in the lift, in which Louis finds himself wishing he had taken the stairs. He’s sure he could have lugged his stuff up there faster.

With the door clicking shut behind them, Louis suddenly wonders if letting his guard down was the best idea. He could very well be mucking up his friendship with Harry if he actually allows himself to give in to the temptation.

Then again, there’s the fact that he very well could have already mucked it up by falling for him in the first place. At this point, seeing it through seems like the best choice.

Besides, Harry’s standing there, with his lithe body and his artful hair and pouty lips, being the most genuine and friendly person he knows. Louis just _wants_.

Harry sets his bags down at the far end of the room, turning back to face Louis, even though there’s more distance between them now. He’s looking shy, shyer than Louis has seen him since that first meeting in Boston, his hand twisting at the back of his neck. 

“Busy day,” Louis says, placing his bag down and slowly moving towards Harry.

Harry hums in agreement, watching intently as Louis draws closer.

“I’m sorry I’m such a prick,” Louis says. “You certainly don’t need anything from me.”

Harry tilts his head to the side again, looking over Louis as he walks forward.

“I don’t _need_ anything, Lou, but I want things from you. I want a lot of things from you, but I just try and follow your lead on this.”

“I know,” Louis says. “I know I sort of confused you. Zayn gave me a speaking to on it.”

“Did he now?” Harry laughs. “That’s embarrassing. He didn’t do the whole ‘do you like Harry check yes or no’ thing, right?”

Louis laughs and shrugs. “That’s between me and Zayn,” he whispers.

“Oh, I think we see how well things stay with Zayn,” Harry says. 

Louis reaches out and pushes Harry’s hair back. Harry closes his eyes as he does so.

“Lou,” he says, letting his eyes flutter open again. “I just, bleh. Today, I had this, um, moment of introspection, where I was thinking about you and... how I felt. I just need to say something. I guess part of the reason I like you so much is because of how you take care of people. But sometimes you don’t let other people take care of you. All the time, really. You _never_ let anyone take care of you, and that’s, like, the role I’ve been trying to fill. I have a hard time explaining it, but you basically guide me and make me the best at what I’m doing, and you have no idea. You never force it or talk down to me, you just encourage me and support me, and I want you to let me do the same for you. I want us to be together, really, and yeah, that’s what I was thinking while I was force-feeding that bloke aspirin today.”

Harry finishes his speech, and Louis can’t help the grin that shoots across his face. He knows it’s a little tactless, really, to be grinning like a loon with the events that unfolded. The man will be okay, though, he tells himself. It’s okay to be happy when things work out. 

He should say something back, of course. Something as deep and as heartfelt as Harry, but instead he feels torn up inside from desire. He remembers the night that they kissed those months ago, and how he had been sure then that Harry was seducing him. He hadn’t realized that in truth, Harry had been seducing him the whole time. Even now, when it’s the quiet, intense side of Harry, as opposed to the blunt, sexy moves he pulled before. Louis suspects it’s because there’s so much more on the table this time around.

Louis finds himself a bit speechless, to be honest.

“Yeah,” he agrees, though at this point he’s not sure what he’s agreeing with, and leans in. He listens to Harry’s breath hitch, before he reaches out and pulls him in by the back of the neck.

Harry hums as soon as their lips meet, and quickly opens up to slip in his tongue. He’s eager, and just a little bit sloppy, but Louis feels his bones shaking inside just as much. It’s strange to think, he tells himself, that Harry’s this into kissing him. That it was something that he thought about with a dying man by his side.

Louis backs Harry into the wall, letting the still-shining sun filter in from the window and paint streaks across Harry’s skin. Louis pastes himself against Harry, flushed, reaching up to keep their mouths connected. Harry moans, and Louis has to pull back to catch his breath. He doesn’t go far, though, and he feels Harry breathing heavily as well, puffs hot on his cheek.

Louis swoops back in, pushing Harry back into the wall again with a soft thump. Harry’s hands draw up Louis’ side, coming to rest on his shoulder blades, drawing him even closer. 

Harry pulls Louis’ tie loose and then yanks his collar to the side, peppering kisses across his chin and jaw until he starts sucking at his collarbone. Louis can’t do much beyond rest his head down against Harry’s as he tries not to inhale any of Harry’s hair. He rubs aimlessly at Harry’s arm, feeling Harry shiver and still as he works on marking the space right above Louis’ tattoo. 

Harry straightens himself out again, moving his trail of kisses back up to Louis’ jaw. He feels Harry’s still smooth skin rub against his prickly jaw, but Harry doesn’t even flinch. Louis feels one of Harry’s hands trail down his side to the front of his trousers. Harry presses the heel of his hand in, laughing as Louis’ gasps echo in the quiet room.

“I’ve really wanted this,” Harry whispers into Louis’ ear, before licking around the shell. He presses in again. “Are you hard?”

Louis had been sporting a semi at that point, blaming the stress of the day, but Harry’s voice, and Harry’s body, and Harry’s fucking hand on his crotch gets him the rest of the way pretty efficiently.

Louis reaches out to take off Harry’s tie, throwing it behind him and not watching where it lands. Harry reattaches his mouth to Louis’ collarbone as Louis tries to ease Harry’s blazer down his shoulders, kicking it away as it slides down the wall to a puddle at the floor. 

“Will you let me?” Harry whispers.

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis agrees mindlessly. Louis would agree to most things that could come out of Harry’s mouth right now.

Harry slides down the wall, much like his blazer had done a moment prior, prompting Louis to take the smallest step back. Harry settles on his knees, leaning back to sit on his ankles, while he draws his hands down to Louis’ belt. Harry untucks Louis’ shirt quickly, Louis shedding his own blazer, and then sets to work undoing the belt and button. He pulls the zipper down slowly, kneading at his groin, making Louis feel a bit winded.

Harry grasps Louis’ hip with his left hand, and uses his right to uncover Louis’ cock. He keeps a firm grip as he leans forward and licks right up the underside. 

Louis’ breath catches and he hunches forward, his arms reaching out to brace himself on the wall. He feels like he’s caging Harry in, covering him on all sides, and he can’t say the idea doesn’t add fuel to the fire.

Harry takes his cock in his mouth in earnest now, bobbing on and off, keeping his jaw loose the whole time. 

“Shit,” Louis breathes, and it seems like the most coherent thing he’s said in the last hour. 

Harry pulls off for a breath, smiling up at Louis, and with a quick wink, he’s back down, twisting his wrist as tries to take more and more of Louis in as he goes. Louis hears the tell-tale slurp, but it’s hard to focus on much more than the wet heat of Harry’s mouth, the leathery weight of Harry’s tongue, and the fingertips digging their way into Louis’ hip.

Louis drops one of his hands he’s using to brace the wall, and slides it through Harry’s hair. He must have ruffled Harry’s hair dozens of times, but not once has it made Harry groan. Then again, this is the first time with Louis’ dick in Harry’s mouth, so he hasn’t had the pleasure of feeling the vibrations of Harry’s groan before.

He gives Harry’s hair a couple quick tugs, feeling a fond flip of his stomach as Harry pulls off and blinks up at him with heavy-lidded, red-rimmed eyes.

Louis hauls him back up to a standing position, catching his lips immediately, holding Harry up as he kisses him. 

“Off, off,” Louis mutters into Harry’s mouth, moving to pull off his already wrinkled uniform shirt. His shaky fingers struggle to pop the buttons, a fact that he and Harry both can’t seem to stop giggling over.

“No sexy way to take off socks,” Harry mutters as he uses Louis’ shoulder to balance as he toes off his wingtips and peels off his socks. Louis looks down to see Harry’s bony feet sink into the tacky hotel carpet, before Harry tilts his chin back up to kiss him again, soft as anything.

“Doesn’t matter. The closer to naked, the sexier, in my humble opinion.”

Harry rolls his eyes, leaning in for another lingering kiss, one that rattles Louis’ knees.

“So get to work then,” Harry says with a wink, moving to undo his own belt, shoving his trousers down to his ankles and then kicking them aside to land in an undignified heap near the heater. 

Louis follows his lead, unbuttoning his own shirt and tenderly avoiding snagging his cock as he slides out of his own trousers. Their ties end up sprawled, socks and shoes scattered, and only when Louis steps out of his pants does he realize they’re going to have a hell of a time figuring out whose is whose later on.

For now, though, he has a fully naked Harry in front of him, reaching out and setting his warm hands on his abdomen.

Louis kisses him, then, licking hotly into Harry’s open mouth, spinning him around and pushing him back on the bed nearest them.

Harry scuttles back towards the pillows, grinning widely, reaching out for whatever skin of Louis’ he can sink his fingers into. Harry pulls Louis up close by his biceps, groaning as their bodies align.

It’s one of Louis’ favorite things about sex, really. The slide of skin against skin, whether it be sweat-stuck or goosepimpled, always gives him pause. He feels his eyes flutter closed for a moment, before he feels Harry’s ankles hook behind his thighs, dragging him in even closer.

Louis blinks them open, looking down at where their cocks are barely grazing each other.

His eyes draw up to Harry’s hip, the tiny ‘might as well’ burning itself in Louis’ brain.

Might as well, indeed.

Louis leans down and kisses Harry again, feeling Harry arch up to meet him. There is no possible way for Louis to get used to this feeling of Harry’s mouth, or Harry’s hands, or just the way he can feel himself settling into Harry’s heart. The way Harry kisses him makes him feel special, really, far more cherished than he has in a long time. It’s the enthusiasm, he thinks, that Harry takes with him everywhere, whether it’s on a flight, or at a museum, or even getting pints at the pub. It multiplies with sex, and the blokes that Louis slept with before were just going through the motions. Harry, Louis realizes, really means this.

Louis feels too self-conscious to look at Harry all of a sudden, so he dips his head down and starts sucking at a place on Harry’s collarbone, mirroring the mark that Harry had already given him. 

He hears Harry exhale, feeling the breath tickle his ear, and Louis jerks as he feels one of Harry’s hands slide down between them and grab hold of both of their cocks.

Louis knows Harry’s hands are big, it’s no surprise. Before, he’s seen him securely hold three cans of soda in one hand. Louis feels slightly more light headed when it’s both of their cocks.

Louis lifts himself up, arms starting to shake, to give Harry a bit more room. Harry’s hand starts pumping, then, Louis feeling Harry’s pinky finger tracing the underside of his cock.

“Little bit harder,” Louis murmurs, craning down to catch Harry’s mouth in another wet kiss. Harry’s hand stills, Harry nodding as Louis pulls away a little bit.

Harry abandons his own dick, focusing on Louis, eyebrows furrowed as he stares down at the space between them. Harry’s other hand is firmly planted between Louis’ shoulderblades, nails digging in so Louis knows he’ll feel it tomorrow. Louis wants to feel it tomorrow.

Louis’ feels it slicken, lets himself close his eyes and feel. His temple rests against Harry’s, even enjoying the way he can feel Harry’s sweat at that spot.

Harry’s hand ghosts behind his dick to his balls, a move Louis is wholly unprepared for. Feeling like a fuse is lighting up his spine, he comes before he has half a mind to make it last longer. 

The noise he makes is truly embarrassing, and before he can let Harry take the piss, he drops down to his side, tugging Harry along with him. Still catching his breath, he wraps his fist around Harry’s cock, working up to a quick and steady rhythm. Harry’s already close, judging by the shallow breaths coming out of his mouth, and the way he’s gripping the back of Louis’ neck, arching into every twist of Louis’ wrist.

When Harry comes, Louis finally lets himself settle, flinging his arm over his eyes. His muscles ache, a combination of a long day and sex. 

Louis flings his arm off his eyes, letting it slap onto Harry’s back. Harry’s eyes blink open, smile spreading as they make eye contact. Louis doesn’t want to get shy now. Not after he’s heard the way Harry groans when he comes, and not after the way he’s spent months dancing around his feelings.

“You’re something else, you know that?” Louis whispers into the quiet of the hotel room.

Harry shrugs, scooching over so that he can rest his head on Louis’ chest. Harry’s arm comes across Louis’ chest, thumbing at Louis’ neck.

“You’re not like the others,” Louis says, even quieter. It’s more to himself than Harry, but he still wants Harry to understand.

“Now you get it,” Harry responds, sitting up to place a kiss on Louis’ neck before flopping back down.

Louis lets out an ‘oof’ but then reaches around to keep Harry held close.

“I could say the same to you,” Harry says. “You’re not like the others, either.”

“What I’m getting from this is that we’re freaks.”

Harry nods, chuckling. “The freakiest.”

Louis scratches at Harry’s scalp, grinning as Harry leans into it.

“Looks like we’re doing society a favor, then. It’d be a menace to let us out on the general public,” Louis says, staring up at the ceiling.

Harry hums thoughtfully. “Yeah, sounds like a real public service.”

Louis turns and plants another kiss on him, landing mostly on teeth. Harry’s dimple deepens.

“So,” Harry says slowly. “that’s it, then? We’re together? No one else?”

Louis nods, meeting Harry’s eyes. “Yeah, no one else.” 

“What about if I wanted to date, say... Liam?” Harry asks with a wink.

“Argh,” Louis groans, extracting himself to cover up his face as Harry cackles next to him. “Who told you that?”

“Wasn’t hard to figure out, you know,” Harry responds, hooking his chin on Louis’ shoulder. “Just didn’t know what to do about it.”

“We all make mistakes,” Louis says in his own defense. “Romance makes fools of us all.”

“Definitely,” agrees Harry. “You’re a big fool.” 

Harry tugs him back down, laughing. They stop laughing for a bit, after that.

\---

“Hi, I’m here,” Harry announces, walking into the open door, looking around. “Locked my bike up out front, hope that’s okay.”

Louis turns his head to where Harry’s standing, with his ripped t-shirt, jogging shorts, and stupid, stupid, headband.

“Well, looks like someone decided to show,” Louis teases.

“I came as fast as I could,” Harry says, crossing the living room to kiss Louis hello. “Looks like you got most of it done without me.”

Louis lazily kicks another box. 

“I’m tired,” he complains. “Moving house is stupid.”

“Oh, thank god you’re here, Haz,” Zayn says, entering from the porch area. “He’s being insufferable. You should’ve heard him moving the sofa.” Zayn makes a few horrible imitations of Louis’ whingy noises.

“You’ve been just as bad, Zayn,” Liam says, popping up from behind said sofa. “Hi, Harry. Want a beer?”

“Oi,” Louis says, turning to Liam. “Stop stealing my hosting duties.” He turns back to Harry smiling. “Want a beer?”

Harry laughs, nodding. “I’ll go get it.” Harry drops his bag on top of the box labeled “kitchen stuff” and moves toward the kitchen.

He can hear Harry and Niall chatting in the kitchen, the clink of Niall putting away dishes and cups and silverware. Unsurprisingly, Niall had prioritized the kitchen, and most of Niall’s stuff for his bedroom is still strewn about their new flat. Not that Louis is faring much better.

Harry walks back over to Louis, putting an arm around his shoulder.

“Well, I’m here now,” he says, taking a sip from his bottle. “What do you need me to do?”

Louis shrugs, looking at all of the boxes surrounding them. It felt like a battle just getting everything from the moving van to the flat. 

Harry nods, looking around, eyes settling on the box labelled ‘lou’s bed stuff’. Harry had labeled that one himself.

“Have you set up your bed, yet? Mum says that’s the best way to start.” Louis shakes his head. “Come on, then.” Harry grabs his bag and shoulders it, pausing again to lift up the box of sheets, taking care to not spill his beer. Louis is continually amazed at the feats Harry is able to accomplish, when Louis has very well seen Harry trip over his own feet standing still. 

Louis shuffles ahead of him, ushering him into the bedroom. 

“Okay,” Harry announces, dumping the box down onto the bare mattress. “Before I fix all,” he gestures to the room, “this, I want to give you your present.”

Louis perks up a bit at that. “Present?”

Harry nods, leaning in for a quiet kiss.

“I’ve had it for a little. You didn’t see me buy it, or maybe you did. I don’t know,” Harry says, nervously laughing as he pulls a small box out of his bag. Harry thrusts it over, looking at Louis’ face for a reaction.

Louis opens the box and pulls out a wooden rooster figurine. Louis runs his finger along the black and dotted surface, tracing the hearts painted on its tail. The base reads _Lisboa_ , and Louis honestly can’t remember seeing Harry sneak-purchasing this at the airport. 

“Haz,” Louis says, smiling. 

“I have one, too, just so you know. I just put it on the shelf at my flat before I came over,” Harry adds with a wink.

“You’re stealing my thing,” Louis says, leaning forward to kiss Harry, long but sweet. 

Harry shrugs, smiling. “Deal with it.”

Louis laughs, leaning his body weight into Harry. “I think I can.”

“Good,” Harry agrees, before stepping back, forcing Louis to stand on his own. Harry claps. “Now, let’s work on this bed. Everything else can wait until tomorrow, but I refuse to sleep on the floor tonight.”

Louis turns to place the rooster on top of his bureau. He looks at it fondly.

“Okay,” he says. As he turns back around, Harry’s already tucking the ends of a fitted sheet in, humming a little song under his breath.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, you can message me on my [personal](http://www.decisions-and-revisions.tumblr.com) or [fic](http://www.decisionsandrevisionsfic.tumblr.com) tumblrs.


End file.
